Hunter's Lodge
by Jane Poirot
Summary: Ten teenagers are enticed to a lodge under false pretenses, not knowing the retribution that awaits them within...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Nothing related to ATTWN belongs to me; the original characters are mine, but they are each loosely based on the various guests in the book, which do not belong to me either, nor does the original plot belonging to Agatha Christie. Ah, isn't it nice to re-post a story I took down years ago? Here's hoping I'll get around to finishing it this time!

* * *

6:00 AM. I am tired. I do not know how I will get through my last day of eleventh grade before exams. Coffee might help.

I have been up since 3:00 AM cleaning up the loose ends of my work. Now, at 6:00 AM, I am ready to sleep all day. Instead, I will take a short nap before getting ready for school. It is absolutely necessary for me to be there, or else everything will fall apart.

I blink to keep myself awake. I stand up and take one last look at my list:

**_Thomas Craig_**

**_Tabitha Hart_**

**_Abbott Lamb_**

**_Max Llewellyn_**

**_Michael Mason_**

**_Aimee McMillan_**

**_Lindsey McMillan_**

**_Richard Nelson_**

**_Miranda Sherman_**

**_Brent Short_**

A smirk finds its way across my face. One of these names is my own. I cannot risk this list falling into the wrong hands, after all.

I walk out of the room and close the door. In exactly two weeks, three days, ten hours, and thirty minutes, my plan will be launched into action. And it will go down in history as the perfect crime.


	2. The Perfect Bait

Cheerleading practice ended early, much to the relief of Tabitha Hart. She loved cheerleading, but recently, it was getting more difficult to juggle practice with studying for exams. She wasn't in danger of failing, but her grades were slipping ever so slightly, simply because she didn't have _time_ to go over the material. Today, she felt tired, mostly from getting up a bit earlier than usual.

"Good-bye cheerleading, hello summer!" declared one of the girls as the cheerleading members made their way into the girl's locker room.

"Oh my gosh, did you see the "New Moon" trailer?" said one of Tabitha's friends, Sienna.

"Yeah, I did," said Tabitha, standing in front of the mirror, pulling out her hot pink hair scrunchie. She shook her head and let her blonde hair fall loose on her shoulders. Ah. That felt better. She had put it up a little _too_ tight that morning.

"It was pretty crazy." She laughed, "Especially when Jasper leaped across the room in slow-mo! I thought I was going to _die_ laughing!"

"Or how about when Jacob suddenly CGI-morphed into a werewolf?" laughed Sienna.

Tabitha and Sienna laughed. It was just like the way she and Miranda used to laugh.

Tabitha blinked, surprised she was thinking about _that._

"What is it?" asked Sienna, who had noticed her friend her suddenly stopped laughing.

Tabitha shook her head and smiled. "Nothing," she said. "It's nothing."

She walked over to her locker and opened it up. As soon as she did, something fell to the floor. Curious, she bent down and picked it up. That 'something' turned out to be an envelope addressed to her in type. Times New Roman 12, to be exact. What made it _really_ strange was that there was no return address.

This provoked her curiosity even more. She carefully peeled the envelope open and took out a letter, which said in the same Times New Roman 12 font:

_Hi, Tabby!_

_I'll bet you remember me, right? It's been, like, a gazillion years! We met in the second grade—I sat a few seats behind you, remember? I could only stay for, like, a few weeks before my mom got a job offering down in the states. Just recently, my family and I have moved to this quiet little town near Fox Lake. My mom agreed to let me and my brother have a party with all our old friends, only we're holding it at this private little lodge usually reserved for fancy country club parties—Hunter Lodge, to be exact. And guess what? It's right near Fox Lake!_

_The shuttle will arrive to pick you and whoever else may be coming up at four-thirty PM on June 20 outside your school (that's when exams should be done, right?). My parents work kind of late at this vet clinic and my brother and I sometimes help, so if we don't show up by the time you and the others get here, just go in and get yourselves settled. Prepare dinner if you want; I'll tell my mom to keep everything locked up in the freezer so it's prepared when you come._

_I hope I see you soon,_

_Justine Surf_

_PS You'll only be staying for four days to get to know us better, so don't pack much._

Tabitha frowned, trying to think real hard. Justine Serf...had she met anyone with that name? She remembered _someone_ with the name Justine from the second grade...maybe that was her.

Wait, could she go? Tabitha racked through her brain to remember when her exams were. Today was the seventeenth, the last day of school before exams. Spanish was first thing tomorrow at nine, pre-cal came the day after that also at nine, and she had one more exam that same afternoon in biology...

She smiled. She had all the time in the world to prepare.

* * *

Michael Mason walked out of the cafeteria with Thomas Craig, both boys holding a cup of coffee in each hand. "Ya know, Tom, I've been thinking," said Michael.

"That's a dangerous hobby," remarked Thomas, bracing himself.

"I've been thinking," Michael went on, "as long as we have steady grades, we still pass, right? And the whole purpose of exams is so the school board can see just how stupid we really are and laugh their asses off, right? And that even if we only answer just one question and then leave, we _still_ pass, right? Well I say that on the day of exams, we just sign our names on the paper and leave."

"You're kidding, right?" scoffed Thomas as the two boys headed off to their lockers.

"C'mon, dude, it'll be the ultimate protest!" insisted Michael. "It'll be our way of saying, 'fuck you all'!"

"You're insane, you know that?" laughed Thomas, shaking his head. "Besides, _you've_ only got one exam: English. What do you have to complain about?"

"The fact that English is Greek to me," said Michael upon reaching the lockers.

"Ha-ha," said Thomas dryly, rolling his eyes, taking Michael's coffee cup and placing both cups down on the floor.

Michal grinned goofily at him and used one finger to flip a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes before his fingers flew away at the lock, trying to remember the combination. "By the way," he said, "you were ten minutes late this morning. I usually meet you in front at seven-thirty. You didn't come until seven-_forty._ Exams killing you?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," Thomas quickly nodded, focusing on his lock.

"Exams are a bitch, man," said Michael, who figured that the last number to open the lock had to either be 3 or 5.

"They sure are," muttered Thomas. He exclaimed, "A-ha!"

"You sure got your locker open faster than me," remarked Michael, who realized now that his chicken-scratch handwriting was useless in cases like this.

Thomas got out his various text books and began stuffing them in his backpack while Michael struggled away at his lock. Just as Thomas grabbed the final text book in his locker, he noticed something thin and flimsy being shoved forward. He took it and saw an envelope with his name on it in type-written letters...with no return address. Thomas ripped open the envelope and read the letter that came pouring out of it:

_Yo, Thomas!_

_It's been a while since we've met. You and Michael probably remember me from the fifth grade, right? I was the short, scrawny kid in the back. Anyway, my sister and I were always transferring in and out of the country, so I never really got any chance to make any friends. I talked to you and Michael a couple times, so I guess it would be cool with you if I invited you and Michael to this party my sister and I are throwing at Fox Lake in Hunter Lodge on June 20?_

_The shuttle will arrive to pick you and whoever else may be coming up at four-thirty PM on June 20 outside your school (that's when exams should be done, right?). My parents work kind of late at this vet clinic and my sister and I sometimes help, so if we don't show up by the time you and the others get here, just go in and get yourselves settled. Prepare dinner if you want; I'll tell my mom to keep everything locked up in the freezer so it's prepared when you come._

_I hope I see you soon,_

_Justin Surf_

_PS You'll only be staying for four days to get to know us better, so don't pack much._

"Thomas."

Thomas looked up from his letter and saw Michael also holding a letter. "Did you get the same letter?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did," said Thomas.

"Huh," said Michael. "Our exams will be over by then." He grinned. "I'm always up for a party."

* * *

Miranda Sherman looked up at the clock (only ten minutes to noon) before her eyes moved back to the computer screen. As a special treat for last day, her biology teacher had booked the lab for the class to have a special 'on-line treasure hunt'. Whatever that meant. She really couldn't care less; the stress of exams was getting to her lately. All she wanted was for them to be over and done with.

Miranda tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and signed in to her e-mail account, hoping she wouldn't be caught. Checking e-mail during class was always risky.

While waiting for her e-mail account to get started up, Miranda looked around the class. She saw Tabitha Hart sharing headphones with Sienna Brown. She sighed. She used to be friends with Tabitha when they were younger. The two girls had been practically inseparable ever since they met on the first day of fourth grade years ago. They would share secrets, see movies together, and even make each other Get Well Soon cards whenever one of them got sick. Yes, the two girls had been extra close until...until the incident at the end of the eighth grade.

Miranda sharply turned her head back to the computer. By now, her e-mail account had fully loaded up. Sure enough, she had one new message from someone she didn't recognize: **justine_and_justin at koolmail dot com.**

Her curiosity provoked, Miranda clicked on the message to read it:

_Hey, Miranda!_

_Remember me, Justine? From 2nd grade? You probably don't. My brother and I moved around a lot when we were little. During that time, I got to know you, and I liked you a lot. I was so sad when we had to go! Any-hoo, guess what? My parents are letting my brother and I throw this party on Saturday at Fox Lake in Hunter Lodge, and they said I could invite you!_

The rest of the message contained details as to how Miranda would get picked up. She briefly panicked when she saw the date and time. June 20. Four-thirty. She had a Religious Studies exam that afternoon. Well, she _might_ finish it by three at least, right?

Miranda felt as though she were being watched. She quickly closed off her window and went back to the treasure hunt. She thought she heard Tabitha whispering, "She has one, too."

* * *

"Ah, lunch," sighed Richard Nelson, sitting outside on the dew-covered grass with his friends, Max Llewellyn and Abbott Lamb. He took a bite out of his salami sandwich and said with his mouth full, "My favourite time of day!"

"For obvious reasons," muttered Max, rolling his eyes.

"I heard that!" said Richard accusingly.

Abbott laughed. To this day, he would never figure out just how Max and Richard came to be such good friends. The only things they had in common were their physical characteristics—black hair, an unusually pale complexion, and being tall enough to pass off for seventeen yet short enough to be mistaken for thirteen. Those similarities ended right there. Richard had a wicked sense of humour, while Max was quiet and serious. Still, Abbott enjoyed hanging out with them just to see how their dynamics worked when played off each other.

"Guys," said Richard after swallowing his sandwich, "something really, really weird happened this morning."

"Let me guess," said Max dryly, sitting up straight. "You found a brain."

"No, Max, I'm _serious,"_ said Richard with a look on his face indicating it was something very important. "When I went to get my stuff this morning, I found a letter in my locker. Addressed to _me._ With no return address. And it was from this guy called Justin Surf who claimed to know me, and he invited me to this party at Fox Lake _right after exams._ What, you don't believe me?" he said defensively when Abbott and Max had an awed look on their faces.

"No, Rich, we believe you," said Max. He slowly pulled out a folded-up letter from his jeans pocket. "Because I found one in my locker, too."

"Okay, dude?" said Abbott, pulling his letter out from his pocket. "This is getting really creepy."

Abbott heard footsteps in the grass. He looked up and saw Tabitha Hart and Miranda Sherman walking right towards them, like they had come to get something they had forgotten. "Uh, hey guys," said Tabitha.

"Hey, Tabitha," said Richard, wiggling his eyebrows.

Max ignored this. He said, "Hey, girls. Hi, Miranda."

"Hey," said Miranda shyly. She and Max had starred together in the school play, Sweeney Todd, back in the tenth grade. The two weren't best friends, but got along perfectly fine.

"So, uh," said Abbott, standing up. "What can we do for you?"

"Did you just say _you_ guys got a creepy letter about Justin Serf?" asked Tabitha.

"Yeah," said Richard slowly. "What about it?"

"I was talking with Miranda just now," said Tabitha. "And..._we_ got similar letters, too."

"Oh," said Abbott. "What a weird coincidence. Oh, well; I guess we'll all have fun!"

"I guess we will," spoke up Miranda. "We supposedly go back home on the twenty-fourth, which is my birthday. I'll be seventeen."

"What an amazing coincidence," commented Abbott. He then said, "Well...I guess we'll see you girls then. Bye."

"Bye," said both girls before walking off. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on Abbott's part, but he could've sworn he saw Miranda turn back to look at him and smile.

* * *

"Finally!" sighed Lindsey McMillan as she and her twin sister, Aimee, walked off to their lockers, the sound of the final bell ringing in their ears. "Now all we have to worry about are our exams!"

"_We?"_ said Aimee. "As I recall, _I_ studied. You did not."

"That's because you don't have a social life," chirped Lindsey.

"Ha-ha," said Aimee dryly. She saw something poking out of Lindsey's jean pocket and said, "Hey Lindsey, what's that you've got?"

"This?" said Lindsey, pulling a letter out of her pocket. "Oh, it's just an invitation to some party from an old friend of mine."

"Would that 'friend' happen to be named Justine Surf?" asked Aimee.

"Yeah," said Lindsey, surprised. "You got invited, too?"

"Yeah," said Aimee. "I found it in my locker this morning."

Lindsey looked at Aimee strangely. "So did I," she said. She shrugged. "Oh, well! It's been a while since we went to a party together. I guess it'll be kind of cool."

* * *

Among these ten, only one of them was thinking, _No one suspects anything. I have them completely convinced I know nothing about what is going to happen. The fools! All that needs to be done now is to watch...and wait._


	3. The Gathering

_Tick-tock._

"I can do this," muttered Abbott, scratching out the wrong answers with his pencil. "Just don't over-analyze Cain and Abel. I can do this."

June 20 had finally arrived, as did the final exams for Abbott, Miranda, and Richard, all of whom were taking the same Religion Studies course. Everyone else was waiting outside for them on the front steps of the building.

Miranda was just about finished. She checked over her answers once more. It _seemed_ that she got all of them right. Wait, something looked fishy about her Cain and Abel response...

Miranda looked up at the clock. The hands indicated that the time was four twenty-five. _Oh screw it already,_ she thought, turning over her exam. _I at least managed to answer all the questions; who cares if I got them all right?_

She marched up to the front of the classroom at the same time Richard did. They each handed in their exams to Mr. Armstrong, who indicated with his stern eyes they could go. However, they had resolved not to leave without each other. Miranda and Richard stood in front of the class, their eyes on Abbott.

Miranda didn't know Abbott too well; all she knew about him was that he was the class clown, but not in an annoying way like most goof-offs; he was actually very charming and sweet. She had talked to him a couple times, but only when they were doing a group project, or waiting for class to begin. What she _did_ find strange about him was that back when she and Max were performing in Sweeney Todd, Abbott had showed up to all five shows and sat in the front row every time. And somehow, she didn't believe him when he claimed to be there to support his best friend, Max, especially when he clapped and whistled after her solos, yet only gave mild applause to the other songs.

Miranda looked over to Richard. She also didn't know Richard too well. Like Abbott, she only talked to him when necessary for a project, but he wasn't really someone she wanted to be around when waiting for class to start. There was something about him she just didn't like. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was _something_ about Richard that made her want to take two steps away from him anytime the two got close.

"Yes! Done!" cried Abbott triumphantly. He smacked his pencil down on the desk, shoved it into his pocket, and marched to the front of the class, exam in hand. "Here you go, Mr. A," he said. "See you later!"

Abbott, Miranda, and Richard then solemnly walked out of the classroom...before running down the hall.

* * *

"What's _taking_ them so long?" said Tabitha irritably, checking out her watch. "It's four twenty-nine."

"You know how tough exams are," said Lindsey, trying to be the diplomatic one. "Maybe they're just going over the questions one more time."

"Would you be quiet?" snapped Tabitha.

"My, my, _someone's_ having a bad case of PMS," said a voice behind her. Tabitha turned around and saw Brent Short standing there, his red hair neatly combed, as always.

_Dork,_ she mentally sneered before saying politely, "What are you doing here, Brent?"

"I got an e-mail from Justin Surf asking me to come to his party," said Brent. "I am to wait here for the shuttle to arrive and pick us all up. Is that what you're doing here, too?"

"Yeah," said Michael in an almost dazed voice. "It's...weird."

Brent sighed and stood, looking out to see if the shuttle was coming this way or not. He had been afraid he would be late. He had finished his exams yesterday, but had spent most of today baby-sitting his six-month-old nephew, Cecil...

* * *

"_That's it," said Brent gently. "One more step to Uncle Brent."_

_Giggling, Cecil took a few, wobbly steps towards Brent before falling over._

"_Good try," said Brent gently. He looked up at the clock. It was just about four-fifteen. He hoped Chloe or his parents would come home soon before he missed the shuttle._

_As if his prayers were being answered, Brent heard the door open. He looked over his shoulder and saw Chloe come in through the door, her brown hair up in a messy bun. "Hi, Brent," she said. "So sorry I'm late. Mom had to drop off a package at her friend's."_

"_I guess that's understandable," said Brent. "So, where's mom?"_

"_In the garage, replacing the anti-freeze," explained Chloe. She smiled at her son. "Hi, Cee-Cee," she cooed, bending down to the floor. "Crawl to mommy. You can do it."_

_Brent sighed. It was such a sad sight. Being somewhat conservative, he believed no girl should ever have to become a mother at fourteen. It was only too bad it happened to Chloe, who seemed blissfully oblivious as to how this would affect her future. She simply claimed she would go to a community college with a daycare when the time came for her to go off to university. _

_Ah, how young and naive she is, Brent sadly thought. If it hadn't been for the agreement to let their parents take care of Cecil part time, they would've forced her to give him up. All this trouble...all because of that man..._

_Brent clenched his fists, then unclenched them and said, "So, Chloe, you wouldn't mind if I just went off now, would you?"_

"_Oh sure, go ahead," said Chloe, smiling. "Have fun at the party." She scooped Cecil up in her arms, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and cooed, "Tell your friend Cecil says hi!"_

* * *

_Well, if she truly is comfortable with this, then she should be all right without me for a few days,_ Brent reasoned, calming himself down.

"Four-thirty," announced Tabitha. _"Where_ are they?"

"You know, Tabitha," said Max, "it's not like it'll arrive at four-thirty on the nose. It's entirely possible the shuttle could get stuck in traffic and therefore be a few minutes late."

"Whatever," sighed Tabitha. "If those three aren't here by the time the shuttle arrives, we're going without them, and that's that."

Just then, the school doors burst open and out came Abbott, Miranda, and Richard, huffing and puffing. "Sorry we're late, guys," puffed Richard. "Exam...real bitch..."

"You're not _too_ late," said Aimee, shooting a glare at Tabitha, who only huffed. "The shuttle isn't here, yet."

Aimee pushed her glasses up her nose. She, like her sister, often had to play the role of the peacemaker more than once. Even if it meant...prying a little...

* * *

_Aimee hummed a merry tune to herself as she washed the dishes that morning. She and Lindsey had only been in high school for a few weeks and already, things seemed to be looking up for the both of them. Aimee played the clarinet on the band team, and Lindsey had a steady boyfriend she had met over the summer. Yes, she could tell high school was going to rock._

_Aimee heard the door open and close. She could tell it was Lindsey; she had scarfed down her pancakes in a hurry before running off to meet her boyfriend, whom she had described to be "really impatient". Well, that meeting with her boyfriend seemed to have ended pretty fast._

"_Hey, Lindsey," said Aimee, drying off the dishes. "How did your meeting with Vincent go?"_

"_It...went okay," said Lindsey slowly._

"_Hey, Lindsey," said Aimee, beginning to turn around. "Do you think you could help me with the dish—"_

_But by the time she turned around, Lindsey was already running down the hall and into the nearest bathroom._

_Aimee sighed. As usual, Lindsey was trying to duck out of responsibility again. It would always be Aimee stuck with the chores because every time their parents asked them to do something, Lindsey had an excuse: "I have to meet up with Vincent," "I need to go finish my homework," etc. And now, Aimee was getting sick of it._

_Aimee decided the dishes could wait five more minutes. She tore off her gloves and tip-toed down the hall to the bathroom, planning to catch her by surprise. She would teach the little trouble-maker a lesson or two._

_When Aimee made it to the door of the bathroom, she gently opened it just a crack to take a peek inside. She saw Lindsey's hand moving towards her make-up case. Rolling her eyes, Aimee opened the door even further...and was shocked by what she saw._

_Lindsey had a big, purple bruise around her eye. And she was using eye shadow to cover it up._

"_Lindsey," said Aimee._

_Lindsey looked up and saw Aimee. Before she could say anything, Aimee asked, "How did you get that black eye? Don't worry, mom and dad are out in the backyard," she quickly added when Lindsey seemed to tense up._

_Lindsey relaxed and said, "Oh, well, I was walking over to see Vincent when I tripped and fell. I hit my eye on the curb, and...well, Vincent understood, but he told me to go back home and rest."_

"_Oh," said Aimee. "Well, I'll leave you alone, then."_

_Aimee closed the bathroom door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. She had a strange feeling telling her that Lindsey was lying—and that Vincent might have something to do with her reasons for lying._

* * *

_Why think about that now?_ thought Aimee. _That happened three years ago._

She looked over at Lindsey, who seemed to be her usual bubbly self, flipping her chestnut hair over her shoulder. Well, if Lindsey wasn't affected by it, then Aimee wasn't affected by it.

"Four thirty-one," muttered Tabitha.

"Hey, Tabitha?" said Abbott. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure," shrugged Tabitha.

Abbott then said with a sweet smile, "Shut up."

It was all Aimee and Lindsey could do to stifle a laugh while Tabitha groaned and rolled her eyes. Abbott lightly chuckled and thought, _Ah, if only Caleb could see it now._

He frowned. _Wait, why the hell am I thinking about Caleb? That guy's gone now._

"There's the shuttle," announced Brent as a large, black car pulled up into the school driveway, making its way to the school steps.

"Finally," sighed Tabitha.

"Well, this is it, you guys," said Thomas cheerfully. "We're off to see some old friends of ours."

"Yeah," said Michael, sounding determined to be cheerful. "This is going to be the reunion of our young lives!"

Little did he know how true that statement would turn out to be...


	4. The Journey

Nearly four hours had come and gone, and they were _still_ on the road, en route to Fox Lake. Needless to say, the journey was growing tedious for many.

Tabitha, who sat in the back between Miranda and Abbott, complained, "All right, that's it; if I have to wait one _second_ longer, I am going insane. I was _going_ to bring my iPod, but then I lost it." She put on a sweet smile, turned towards Abbott, and said, "Oh, Abbott. May I please borrow your iPod?"

Abbott acted like he hadn't heard Tabitha and just turned up the volume on his iPod louder.

"Hello? Abbott?" said Tabitha in a louder voice. _"Hello?"_

Abbott just hummed along with the music before Tabitha ripped off his headphones only to hear, _"So let mercy come/and wash away/what I've done..."_

Tabitha hid her disgust at the sound of Linkin Park by smiling and saying, "Sorry. Here, you can have these headphones back."

"Thank you, your majesty," said Abbott dryly.

Miranda spoke up: "I'll let you listen to my iPod for a little while, Tabitha. I have Three Days Grace on here."

"Ah, finally, _someone_ with good taste," sighed Tabitha.

Miranda took off her headphones and handed it over to Tabitha, who was greeted by the lyrics, _"Help me believe/it's not the real me/somebody help me tame this ani-maaaaal..."_

"Woo!" exclaimed Tabitha, dancing to the tune right after she put on the headphones.

Miranda rolled her eyes and exchanged a smile with Abbott, who returned the smile before turning to look out the window. She was glad to have company other than Tabitha in the very back. A part of her truly regretted being unable to control herself back then...back when...

Miranda shook her head and thought about something much more pleasant: Her lunch with her family right before leaving for her final exam...

* * *

"_So, Riley," said Miranda, trying to strike up a conversation with her eight-year-old sister at the dinner table, "are you excited about going to third grade in the fall?"_

"_Oh yeah!" nodded Riley after swallowing a giant bite of her corn beef sandwich. "All my friends are going to be in my class!"_

"_That sounds wonderful, dear," said Mrs. Sherman. "Your sister also had the luck of being in the exact same class as her best friend every year, didn't you Miranda?"_

"_Which friend?" asked Riley._

"_Uh, mom?" said Miranda, feeling a bit uneasy. "Can we change the subject please?"_

_Mr. Sherman said, "I think it was that girl, Tabitha Hart. She was over here a couple times. I remember her being a little bossy, but very sweet. She was so sweet, in fact, I could hardly believe it when you two stopped being friends. What exactly happened?"_

"_Oh, well, we grew apart like most friends do," said Miranda quickly. "May I be excused?"_

"_Oh, I think I know what happened," said Mrs. Sherman with a smile on her face. "I think it had something to do with that boy you had such a crush on back in the eighth grade—what was his name?"_

_Miranda quickly shot up from her seat and said, "Oh, look at the time; I've really got to go now. I am so, so, so sorry, but Mr. Armstrong can be anal retentive if we show up even just one minute late."_

_She ran into the front hall, grabbed her pencil case and suitcase, and called out over her shoulder, "Bye everybody! See you next week!"_

* * *

What made her parents think what happened was any of _their _business? Why couldn't they have just kept their mouths _shut?_ Miranda sighed. Without her iPod, she would be doing a _lot_ of unwanted thinking the rest of this trip.

* * *

In the row ahead, Brent, Richard, and Max sat together. Right now, Brent was trying to keep Richard and Max from killing each other.

"You know, _Richard,_ there is absolutely _nothing_ wrong with taking the time to appreciate the scenery," remarked Max. "So quit your whining about how you forgot your iPod at home, and just enjoy yourself."

"I can think of _something_ you should do to yourself, but I can't say it in front of women," sneered Richard.

"Guys," said Brent weakly, "how about we just pass the time by talking?"

"About _what?"_ snapped Richard.

"Um...about which classes we're thinking of taking in the fall?" suggested Brent.

"Well, I know which course I'm taking," said Max, sitting up straight. "I'm going to be taking Home Ec."

"Home Ec?" snorted Richard. "That's a _girl's_ course? What are you, gay? I had my suspicions during the locker room incident, and buddy—you just proved it."

"That means nothing," said Max quickly. "It could happen to _anyone."_

Brent groaned and put each of his hands on Richard and Max's mouths. "Just sit down, and shut up until we get there, okay?" said Brent in a dangerously calm voice.

Richard and Max meekly nodded. Brent took his hands off the two boys' faces and sat back to relax. Richard smiled and looked out the window. He had known Max for years now, and he never grew tired of him, not even on that day they sat together in church years ago, just a few weeks before starting high school...

* * *

"_Sit still, Richard," commanded Mrs. Nelson as she led Richard to the front row like a toddler being led to the bathroom. Richard said, "But mother, we're not even sitting down yet."_

"_Don't talk back to your mother, young man," said Mr. Nelson sternly._

_Richard sighed and kept his mouth shut. After a family dispute, his father announced the family would be converting to Catholicism and therefore be attending a different church from now on—not that Richard enjoyed going to church much to begin with, as he never truly believed in any God._

"_We will be sitting next to my co-worker, Drew Llewellyn," said Mr. Nelson as they went further up. "His family has been going here for about seventeen years now, ever since he got married. He has a one-year-old daughter and three sons, one of whom is around your age, Richard."_

"_Wow, they must be truly devout to Catholicism," remarked Richard, knowing his father would be too dense to realize what that really meant._

"_Indeed they are," said Mr. Nelson. "Ah, here they are."_

_The Nelson's sat down in the front row next to the Llewellyn's, Richard sitting right next to a boy who looked to be around his age, as his father had described. The boy smiled. "Hi," he said. "You must be new here. I'm Max Llewellyn."_

"_Richard Nelson," said Richard, sticking out his hand for Max to shake. Max shook it and said, "The choir's performing tonight. If you like, I could introduce you to some of the girls."_

"_Oh?" said Richard. "You know some of them?"_

"_Yeah," nodded Max. "I don't know all of them, but I do know these two girls—Tabitha and Emmeline. Tabitha has her tough side, but she's very sweet. Emmeline, I think, you'll like very much. You see, she's—"_

"_Quiet boys," said Max's mother, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The sermon's about to start."_

_The sermon was, as usual, rather uneventful, although Richard found this priest kept his attention much better than the other one at his old church. When the choir finally performed, Richard laid his eyes on a girl with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail staring across the church, her voice coming out louder and clearer (and more harmonious) than the other girls._

_Just to confirm his suspicions, Richard nudged Max and whispered, "Hey, who's that girl? The one with the ponytail and kind of blonde-ish, red-ish hair?"_

"_That's Emmeline Bridges," replied Max in a hushed tone._

"_I'd like to meet her when this is over," said Richard._

"_Then I'll introduce you two myself," said Max._

"_Hush, boys!" hissed Mrs. Llewellyn, giving Max a whack on the head with her purse._

_Richard stifled a laugh, but continued to look straight ahead at Emmeline, who put a whole new meaning to the phrase, "choir of angels"._

* * *

Richard sighed and looked away, out the other window.

"Who are you thinking about?" asked Brent.

"No one," replied Richard. "What made you think I was thinking about anyone?"

"Oh, you just _look_ like you're thinking about someone special, that's all," said Brent.

"_I_ know," declared Max. "You're thinking of Emmeline, aren't you?"

"No I'm not," said Richard quickly.

"Yes you are~," teased Max. "Your cheeks are turning red."

"No they're not!" said Richard, who was indeed blushing furiously. "You tell him, Brent!"

"Here we go again," sighed Brent.

* * *

The remaining four—Lindsey, Aimee, Michael, and Thomas—sat up front, right behind the driver. Unlike most of the others, who forgot their iPods at home, they had all brought some form of entertainment with them, and were team-playing in an intense game of Sudoku.

"Okay," said Aimee, tapping her pencil on the page. "So if there's a four in _this_ row, then we can't put down a four, obviously. And if there's no six..."

"That leaves us with five," groaned Michael. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna stare at the scenery."

"Aw c'mon, Mike, you can't be giving up _now,"_ protested Thomas. "We only just began!"

"We've been playing Sudoku for four hours, Tom," snapped Michael. "Come up with a _better_ moronic stock phrase."

"Can you believe those two?" Aimee laughed to Lindsey. Lindsey had to laugh back, remembering their last round of Clue before having to leave.

* * *

"_Miss Scarlet in the hall with the candlestick," declared Lindsey, sitting around the dining table with Aimee._

"_Two out of three are correct," said Aimee, keeping her cards to herself._

"_I've almost got it," said Lindsey, handing the dice over to Aimee._

_Just then, their mother came bursting in through the dining room. "Hey, girls," she said. "I only have a few minutes until I have to go to work, so I just thought I'd pass on a phone message: Lindsey, I got a call from one of your friends you used to work with as a candy striper—remember Elise?"_

"_Uh-huh," said Lindsey, not once looking up from her cards as Aimee made her move._

"_Well, Elise was wondering if you would like to return to working for the children's hospital again this summer," said Mrs. McMillan. "Would you like that?"_

_Lindsey slowly put the cards face-down. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I was hoping to just relax this summer—hang around the pool, go biking with Aimee, catch the latest summer blockbuster—you know, that kind of stuff, when we get back from Fox Lake."_

"_I understand your last job there was a bit emotionally intense for you," said Mrs. McMillan calmly. "Especially after what happened with that little boy."_

_Lindsey felt herself tense up. Her mother went on: "However, I don't think that should hold you down from doing what you love. You've always wanted to be a nurse, right?"_

"_Right," said Lindsey slowly. "Were there any other phone messages?"_

"_No, that's just about it," said Mrs. McMillan, shaking her head. "All right girls, I'm off to work. I should see you when you return a few days later."_

"_Bye," called out Lindsey as Mrs. McMillan walked out of the dining room._

"_I've got it!" declared Aimee. "It was Mrs. Peacock in the hall with the revolver!"_

"_Let's check the solution envelope and see," sighed Lindsey, reaching for the envelope across the table._

* * *

Lindsey said, "So, Aimee, I think a three goes here." That wasn't exactly what she had in mind in terms of a 'cheery memory'. Oh, well.

Just as she was about to put down a three, a voice like stone announced: "We are here."

Lindsey looked up and out the window. Sure enough, amidst the trees and the dirt path, up ahead a lodge made out of pure wood could be seen, with a long-stretching lake just a few feet away from it. It was Hunter's Lodge, which was to be their final destination.


	5. The Destination

When the shuttle came to a complete stop, each guest picked up their suitcase and got out, one at a time.

"Finally!" declared Tabitha, lugging her suitcase behind her. "Just when I thought we'd _never_ get here!"

"Wow," said Lindsey, looking around as she walked up to the lodge. "It's so much _bigger_ than I imagined"

"Yeah," said Aimee, following close behind. "I pictured it being this tiny little cottage with the lake being within walking distance...not up close."

"It doesn't _look_ like anyone's around," said Thomas, catching up with the three girls.

"Maybe they went out to, I don't know, get a beer or something," suggested Michael. Everyone else was beginning to pour out of the shuttle, catching up with the rest of the group

"Or maybe they're waiting inside," said Miranda. "They wouldn't stand out here waiting for four hours, right?"

Abbott ran up to the porch and took a look through the windows. "I don't _see_ anyone inside," he said.

"You know, my letter _did_ say they might be out when we got here," said Max.

"Yeah," said Brent. "It also said we could go right on in if they didn't arrive back."

"For once, you make an _great_ point, Max," said Richard. He ran up to the wooden double doors and managed to open them with ease.

If the outside was beautiful, the inside was _breathtaking._ To the right was the living room, complete with a stone fireplace and three, green leather couches surrounding the coffee table, a nearby bookcase standing upright, and a gun hung up on the wall like a prized trophy. To the left were two doors on the wooden wall. Straight ahead was the staircase. The ten of them walked up the stairs and down the narrow, wooden hall with a door at the very end leading straight out to the balcony, with a second gun hanging on the wall. They were all surprised to see the doors leading to their various rooms had each of their names.

"Well, Lindsey, it looks like we'll be sharing a room," said Aimee, walking towards the door that had both her name and Lindsey's name on it.

"Just don't snore _too_ loudly," joked Lindsey.

"_I_ don't snore," said Richard, heading towards his room. "Right, Max?"

"How would _I_ know?" snorted Max.

"Hey, you guys act just like my parents!" laughed Michael.

"Shut up, Michael!" snapped both Max and Richard before going off to their individual rooms. Everyone else who stood outside just laughed while Michael shrugged and went off to his room.

* * *

Tabitha threw her suitcase down on the bed before collapsing next to it. She didn't know _when_ the Surfs were supposed to come back, but for now, she would just rest. It had been a tedious journey, after all.

Tabitha took a good look around her room. The walls were a faded oak, the floor a slightly darker shade. There was a large, wooden armoire just across the room, along with a creamy-beige carpet just in front of it. There was a small window just across that had a beautiful view of the forest. And then...there was something strange hanging up on the wall.

Tabitha got off the bed and walked over to what she thought was framed artwork. Instead, it turned out to be a nursery rhyme:

_Ten little Indian boys going out to dine_

_One choked his little self and then there were nine_

_Nine little Indian boys sat up very late_

_One overslept himself and then there were eight_

_Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon_

_One said he'd stay there and then there were seven_

_Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks_

_One chopped himself in halves and then there were six_

_Six little Indian boys playing with a hive_

_A bumblebee stung one and then there were five_

_Five little Indian boys going in for law_

_One got into Chancery and then there were four_

_Four little Indian boys going out to sea_

_A red herring swallowed one and then there were three_

_Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo_

_A big bear hugged one and then there were two_

_Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun_

_One got frizzled up and then there was one_

_One little Indian boy left all alone_

_He went and hanged himself and then there were none_

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. "Gruesome," she remarked. She couldn't remember hearing _that_ poem from when she was a child, and no wonder! Her family wasn't ultra-PC to the point where she wasn't allowed to view the Disney classics, but they would've objected to a poem like this. Kayla's family wouldn't, though; Kayla came from a family of—

Tabitha sighed. Why think of Kayla _now?_ Why think of that perfect little twit when she wanted to have a good time?

* * *

Max stroked his chin thoughtfully at the poem in his room. It gave him a very strange feeling—almost as though he had heard it before elsewhere. Maybe he had heard it when he was a baby and it was just stored in his memory.

He shrugged and began to unpack. As he did, he thought back to his conversation with his mother earlier that day...

* * *

"_Mom," said Max, coming out of his room, "can you help me find my shoes?"_

"_I thought I put them in your closet, young man," said Mrs. Llewellyn, barely looking up from her ironing._

"_I thought you did, too," said Max. He suddenly said, "Wait a minute...I think I know who took them..."_

_He heard a pair of stifled giggles in the nearby closet. He thrust open the closet door to find his eleven-year-old twin brothers, Greg and Scott, giggling and holding both his shoes._

"_Come out of there, you little rascals," said Max warningly before tickling them both, causing them to laugh and drop his shoes. He snatched them up and said, "I thought you two were growing out of this."_

"_Yeah, but c'mon—we had to do it for old time's sake," said Greg defensively._

"_Yeah, cause you're going away real soon," added Scott._

_Max smiled at the two boys. "Don't worry," he said, giving them both a pat on the head. "I won't be gone forever—just for a few days. I'll be back before you know it."_

_He began to put his shoes on; just as he did, his mother said, "Mrs. Dean called me an hour ago. She offered for us to come over to their house next Saturday for dinner. Isn't that nice of her? I feel so sorry for the poor woman, especially after what happened with her son."_

"_Uh, yeah, sure," said Max uneasily. "That was...very tragic. Anyway...you just tell her I won't be going that day; I'll be hanging out with Rich and Abbott."_

"_Well, I won't force you to go if you don't want to, but I would appreciate it if you came anyway," said Mrs. Llewellyn, now folding up the laundry. "Why don't you think about it while at Fox Lake and tell me if you've changed your mind when you get back?"_

"_Sure," shrugged Max. "Sounds great." Then, "Hey, uh, are dad and Annie still at the doctor's?"_

"_Yes," sighed Mrs. Llewellyn. "You know what those line-ups are like."_

"_Well, tell them I said goodbye," said Max, slinging his backpack over his shoulders._

* * *

Max sighed and lay on the bed, straightening his purple tie. Had the Surfs heard of what happened with the Dean's son? He hoped not.

* * *

At eight-thirty, Thomas and Richard went downstairs to prepare dinner.

"I don't want to make the Surf's feel bad for not showing up or anything," said Thomas as he chopped up the onions, "but I _am_ beginning to feel kind of hungry."

"I'm sure they'll understand," said Richard, who was turning on the stove in the corner. "They sounded kind of laid back in the letter, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," said Thomas. He frowned and sniffed. "Wait," he said, turning to Richard, "do you smell something—"

He froze when he saw the flames licking the stove on the other side of the wall. He barely heard Richard's cry of, "Fire!" He stood, frozen, his eyes widening at the sight of the orange and yellow colours flickering. He was suddenly paralyzed to the spot, too scared to think or move.

"_The emergency exits will be to your left, please go slowly."_

"Yo, Thomas, snap out of it!"

"Huh?" said Thomas suddenly, now aware the fire had somehow been put out.

"I put the fire out, no thanks to you," snapped Richard. "It's a good thing there was a fire extinguisher nearby or this place would've gone up in flames!"

"Uh, yeah, good thing," said Thomas quickly. He shivered and proceeded to chop up the celery.

* * *

Michael put his hands in his pockets and whistled a merry little tune as he took a walk around the lake. Richard and Thomas were preparing dinner, and they said it would be a while yet, so Michael had decided to take this time to have a little walk.

This sure was the strangest party Michael had ever been to—one where the hosts had yet to show up. Oh sure, he had been to _plenty_ of parties with no parental supervision, but there had at least been the children of said parental figures.

"This is going to be one wild party," chuckled Michael. Maybe wilder than the last party he had gone to where...

_Cut that out,_ he scolded himself. _This won't end like that._

Michael stopped walking when he saw two large trees cut down, blocking the path out. "That wasn't here before," he muttered. He took a walk around the forest, only to find that all potential paths to get out were blocked by a series of cut-down trees.


	6. The Indictment

"Are you _sure_ all paths are blocked off, Michael?" Miranda asked at dinner, sitting around the table with the other guests.

"I _swear,"_ said Michael, having just told everyone the story. _"Everywhere_ I went where there was a path that just might lead out beyond the forest, it was _blocked."_ He blew out a breath. "Hoo-boy! I wonder how the Surf's are going to get in _now."_

"Maybe they already_are_ here, and this is just more of their joke," said Richard, spooning up some of the salad. "They're probably somewhere in the house listening in on us and laughing their asses off at their little joke."

"If _that's_ the case," said Michael, "then where the hell _are_ they?"

"Probably somewhere in the forest," suggested Abbott as he cut up his lamb chops. "Maybe there's a secret path that leads back that you just didn't find."

"For the last time," said Michael exasperatedly, "there is no way _out,_ hence there is no way _in."_

"Why would the Surf's want to trap us here in the first place?" asked Aimee.

"In case we hate the party and want to go home?" suggested Thomas.

Aimee punched Thomas in the arm. Thomas laughed, "Hey, it was just a joke!"

"Well, maybe this is all part of their eccentric behaviour," said Lindsey.

"Or maybe they just want us to get settled in before they arrive," said Miranda. "I'm sure they'll be here tomorrow."

"They'd better," muttered Tabitha. "Then I'll find out just when exactly I was supposed to have met her in the second grade."

Miranda frowned. "Did you say second grade?" she asked. "That's when _I_ supposedly met Justine, too, but I don't remember her."

"How strange," remarked Aimee. "Lindsey and I apparently know her longer than that—we supposedly go back to pre-k."

"Well, Justin and I supposedly met in the fifth grade," said Thomas.

"Isn't it funny how none of us remember someone we should've met a long time ago?" remarked Brent.

"Ah, well, my memory never was my strong point anyway," shrugged Richard.

"But your smell is!" joked Abbott.

"Heh-heh, watch it," sneered Richard.

Max changed the subject: "Hey, look at that centerpiece—right in the middle of the table."

Right in the middle of the table stood ten little Indian boys all in a row on a marble-white mantelpiece, each looking fierce and determined.

"You know, that reminds me of that rhyme in my room," spoke up Tabitha.

"You mean the one about the little Indians?" said Aimee.

"Right," said Tabitha slowly.

"Oh, you mean that little frame with that poem in it?" spoke up Thomas. "Yeah, there's one in my room, too."

Everyone around the table agreed in unison that they all had the exact same poem hanging up in their rooms.

"Okay," said Tabitha nervously. "This is getting a little creepy..."

"Well, it's probably just another one of the Surf's many eccentric habits," shrugged Lindsey, even though she was also getting a little unnerved by the whole situation.

"I don't know how many more of their 'eccentric habits' I can take," groaned Richard.

"_Ladies and gentlemen! Silence please!"_

Everyone fell silent, wondering where that haunting voice was coming from.

"_You are charged with the following indictments:_

"_Thomas Alden Craig, that on the fifteenth of October, 2007, you were responsible for the death of Caden James Black._

"_Tabitha Diane Hart, that you did on the twenty-first of September, 2006, brutally murder Kayla Olivia Lynn._

"_Abbott Isaac Lamb, that on the fifth day of January, 2008, you killed Oscar Kamp._

"_Max Humbert Llewellyn, that you did on the tenth of February, 2008, cause the death of Billy Dean._

"_Michael Mark Mason, that upon the twenty-fifth of June, 2008, you were responsible for the death of Marian Winifred George._

"_Aimee Grace McMillan, that upon the thirteenth of November, 2006, you were guilty of the murder of Vincent Tomlin._

"_Lindsey Hope McMillan, that you did on the eighth day of November, 2008, cause the death of Erik Gilbert Fisher._

"_Richard Drew Nelson, that on the twenty-seventh of December, 2006, you were responsible for the death of Emmeline Lorelei Bridges._

"_Miranda Lee Sherman, that upon the twenty-third of June, 2006, you killed Ronald Steven Paulson._

"_Brent Edmund Short, that on the eighteenth of December, 2008, you were guilty of murdering Jason Falcone._

"_Prisoners at the bar of justice, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"_

Another moment of silence followed almost immediately afterwards. The ten of them could only sit in their chairs before Aimee cried out, "Lies! _Lies!"_

She leaped out of her chair and began to run out of the dining room. Lindsey cried out, "Aimee, wait!" She stood up and followed after her, the rest of the accused following swiftly behind.


	7. The Beginning

Everyone followed Aimee into the living room by the stone fireplace, where she stopped running and started hyperventilating, clutching her chest tightly.

"Aimee, calm down," said Lindsey, taking her sister by the shoulders. "Just take some deep breaths, and calm down."

"I—I swear I'm not," Aimee gasped. "That—lies—that—was—"

Her eyes rolled up and she collapsed to the ground. Lindsey bent to the ground and looked into Aimee's face. She looked up and said, "She fainted. I'm going to need some help."

When no one immediately responded, Lindsey snapped, _"Well?"_

Richard and Abbott stepped forward. They helped Lindsey lift Aimee up and lay her down on one of the couches, Richard fanning her face with his hand.

Eventually, Aimee came to. Her eyes fluttered open and she muttered, "Wha...what's going on?"

"Just relax, Aimee," said Lindsey calmly. "Everyone knows you're not a murderer." She looked around the group and said, "I think we can all safely say that was a horrible pack of lies, right?"

"Right," said Thomas firmly, stepping forward. "If this is part of the Surf's joke, I have to say they have a _sick_ sense of humour." He shook his head. "Where the _fuck_ did that come from, anyway?"

Tabitha took a step forward, only to step on something long and thick. She looked down and saw a wire. Curious, she followed the wire, which coiled further and further down the row of books until finally, it stopped at a plug just underneath a small radio which sat on an oak nightstand. Right beside the radio was a cassette player.

She pressed 'Play' and waited for about five minutes in silence before the voice blared out, _"Ladies and gentlemen! Silence please!"_

She quickly pressed 'Stop' and removed the cassette tape. She stalked off to the fireplace and announced, "Everyone, I know where that voice came from. It came from _this_ tape."

"_More_ of the Surf's idea of a 'practical joke', I assume?" said Max.

"Pretty fucked up joke," muttered Abbott, clenching his fists.

"You know, maybe we should just clear this all up in the open now," suggested Lindsey. "You know, just to make it clear we really didn't kill anyone."

"All right, then," said Richard, folding his arms across his chest. "Why don't _you_ go first then, princess?"

_"Richard,"_ said Tabitha sharply.

"No, I guess I should," sighed Lindsey. "This being my idea and all." She looked around the room and spoke: "I used to be a candy striper for a couple months. Erik Fisher was one of the kids I visited. He...had cancer, you see."

"What kind?" asked Abbott.

"He had some form of leukemia," explained Lindsey. "I think it was either acute or chronic, because he was in and out _constantly._ I got used to seeing him in the hospital whenever I came—I think the longest he was out since I arrived was two weeks. He kept getting worse and worse. And then...one day, I came in for work, and I was told that he..."

"Died," finished Max bluntly.

Lindsey nodded, blinking back tears. "I can't believe I'm being blamed for something that wasn't my fault," she said, her voice wavering. "I mean, it's not like I can _control_ cancer, right?"

Tabitha stepped forward. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and gave it to Lindsey, who nodded in gratitude and used it to blow her nose. Tabitha spoke: "I'm sure all of you remember Kayla Lynn, and...what happened to her."

"Yeah, wasn't she that girl who died in that gang stabbing?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," nodded Tabitha. "But _I_ didn't have anything to do with it. I mean, it's ridiculous—why would I _want_ to kill her anyway? I only had, like, one or two conversations with her before class." She shrugged. "I guess they must be misinformed."

Max cleared his throat. "Another one I think you all remember is Billy Dean," he said. "He was that boy who hanged himself in his bedroom last year. Well, I can say this—Billy was tormented everyday by bullies. He was a small, scrawny kid who never felt good about himself. I tried to help him. I suggested he go to a counsellor, but he said the counsellor was no help. The next thing I know, we're all gathered for a school assembly dedicated to Billy, and we get pamphlets about teen suicide shoved in our faces."

"Oh, _yes,"_ shuddered Richard. "I remember _that._ But geez, to blame _you_ for the kid's issues?"

"Exactly," nodded Max. "I tried to get him to reach out, but...I don't know, I guess I accidentally brought back too many bad memories." He looked curiously at Richard. "What about you, Rich? What _did_ you do to Emmeline?"

"Nothing worth mentioning," scoffed Richard.

"I thought the two of you went out together at that Christmas party our church was holding," spoke up Tabitha.

"Well, yeah, we did," said Richard. "We had a great time together." He sighed, "And then, two weeks later, I suddenly see this headline on the news about how Emmeline jumped off the top of an apartment building. I seriously don't know what the fuck _that_ was about. She was just fine when we went out and then—_bam!"_ He slammed his fist into his hand for emphasis. "Or rather..._splat!"_

"How can you be so _crude?"_ cried Tabitha. "I knew her too, you know!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to lighten up the situation," shrugged Richard.

"Your girlfriend _killed herself_ and you're trying to _lighten up_ the situation?" said Tabitha shrilly.

"Tabitha," said Miranda, placing one hand on Tabitha's shoulder.

Tabitha relaxed. She turned around and said, "So, Miranda, why don't _you_ go next and tell us all about Ronnie?"

Miranda's eyes met Tabitha's. "There's nothing to tell," she said calmly.

Tabitha smiled. "But of course," she said. "Ronnie _was_ my boyfriend, after all. You know that."

She noticed Miranda clenching her fists. She nodded curtly and said, "Well, tell us when you're ready." She sat down on the other couch and gave Miranda a knowing smile.

Miranda unclenched her fists, ignoring the fingernail indents left in her palms. She calmly said, "Ronnie's death was a tragic accident. He also died in a gang-related death..." She smiled at Tabitha and added cheerfully, "Like Kayla!"

Tabitha's smile melted off her face. "Kayla was stabbed," she said. "Ronnie was _shot."_

"Not by me, I can assure you," said Miranda in the same, calm voice.

"You know," said Max, standing up. "I just realized something: Kayla and Ronnie's deaths are connected."

"They...are?" said Tabitha disbelievingly.

"Yes," said Max. "They both had gang-related deaths. A few years ago, Oscar Kamp used to be the leader of one of the most feared gangs in the city." He turned to Abbott. "The gang was disbanded after Kamp was shot by your older brother, Caleb."

Abbott nodded furiously. "Yeah," he said. "You heard him. I had nothing to do with this. My older brother, Caleb, was a drug dealer. None of us found out until _after_ he was arrested. Mom and dad just about killed him—sorry," he quickly added at the offended looks from some of the guests. "Too soon, I know. But in any event, _I_ didn't kill him."

_So he says,_ Thomas thought before saying, "I'd just like to say one thing—aside from Michael, Caden was my good friend. What happened was a tragedy, yes, but I had nothing to do with it. Plain and simple." He sat down on the third couch in the room.

"That's okay, Thomas," shrugged Michael. "Because you know, what happened with me was an honest mistake, too." He poured himself a glass of root beer and spoke: "It happened about a year ago at this party to celebrate the end of exams. As you all know, I'm quite the party animal."

He laughed. "What you _don't_ know is of the shady...business...I had been operating on the side. You see, there's a _reason_ people always get _extra_ wild at the parties I go to."

"That reason being...?" prompted Tabitha.

"A good friend of mine I like to call 'ecstasy'," said Michael casually.

"Whoa, wait, you were dealing _drugs?"_ cried out Miranda.

"Hey, who are you, my mother?" laughed Michael. "I never did them myself, but I saw no harm in handing them out to others—it's just a bit of harmless fun, right? Well, at last year's party, things got a little...out-of-hand. Marian George was basically my equal in terms of how we're always the life of the party. Now I never knew her personally, but she was quite the legend. So when she approached me asking for some E, who was I to say no?"

He sighed, "Well, about thirty minutes or so after, I heard yelling coming from upstairs. I ran up to see what was going on, and there she was, lying on the ground thrashing like animal and all that jazz. To make a long story short, she was pronounced dead a few hours later, and my oh-so _loving_ parents never let me go to another party ever again."

He looked around at everyone's shocked faces and snorted, "Oh come on, it wasn't _my_ fault. According to the coroner's report, her blood alcohol level was, like, 3.0 or something like that. How was I supposed to know? If you ask me, she would've died anyway from alcohol poisoning. So why should I take responsibility for her death if she was going to die?"

"The least you could do is admit to it," said Brent disapprovingly.

"Oh yeah?" sneered Michael, stepping forward. "What about you, Short? Who are you to judge? What about that Falcone guy?"

Brent put on a tight smile. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I never even knew him."

"Wait a minute," said Michael, raising a finger as if having an 'ah-ha' moment. "You never did tell us just who exactly knocked your sister up, did you? Was it him? Was he the one responsible for turning your sister into a slut and—"

Brent shoved Michael and nearly screamed, _"Don't call her that! Never call her that!"_

Michael seemed almost stunned by Brent's reaction...and then a small voice said, "I'm last."

Everyone turned towards Aimee who, with Lindsey's help, was sitting up and appeared much calmer. She said, "Everyone else has gone. Now it's my turn."

She looked over at Lindsey before turning to the rest of the group and saying, "We knew Vincent Tomlin quite well. Lindsey even went out with him. And then, one day, when we least expected it, he...killed himself. We never figured out _why,_ but _I_ had nothing to do with it."

"If that's true, then what's with the freak out you had earlier?" asked Richard.

"I never expected it to be brought up again, that's all," said Aimee slowly.

"My, my, yet another 'suicide' that none of us could _possibly_ be responsible for," said Michael dryly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What are you trying to say?" said Brent angrily.

"Wait a minute," spoke up Thomas, slowly standing up. "I just realized something." He looked at each of the confused faces before making a shocking announcement: "The guys were invited by _Justin_ Surf. The girls were invited by _Justine_ Surf. Their first names may be different, but their last names remain the same—_Surf. _It's not a very common surname, at least not around here. Justin Surf...Justine Surf...or should I say..._justice served."_

Everyone was too shocked to speak for about a minute or two before Lindsey spoke up: "So...what does that mean?"

"It means," said Thomas, "that the Surf's, whoever they may be, are some sort of homicidal maniacs out to get us, that they lured us here we're trapped. I think it goes without saying that the only thing we can do is leave _immediately."_

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you," sighed Michael. _"The trees are blocking the paths._ They are just too fucking high for us to climb over and there's no way to get around them, either."

"Is there a phone around here?" asked Aimee.

"None that I can see," said Thomas, shaking his head. "The guy in the shuttle _said_ he would come back for us on the twenty-third. And today's the twentieth, giving us four days with this lunatic."

"You know what?" said Michael. "I've got a better idea—how about we just stay and fight them? We'll show them they fucked around with the wrong people. They want to play war—we'll give them war."

Michael raised his glass of root beer and declared, "You hear me, Surf? If this is a game of war—bring it on."

He brought the glass to his lips and gulped down the drink. No sooner had he taken the glass away that he began to cough.

"Whoa, there, buddy, you drank a little _too_ fast," laughed Thomas, patting Michael on the back. He took one look at his friend's face and knew then it was serious; his eyes were widening, his lips blue. "Michael?" he said, concerned.

But Michael did not answer. He coughed and choked, gasping for air, until finally, he collapsed onto the floor with a resounding _thud,_ motionless.


	8. The First Night

Brent was the first to step forward. He bent over Michael's body and turned him over. He took one look at his face and looked up, announcing, "He's dead."

None of them could believe it. Michael Mason? The life of the party? _Dead?_

"Cyanide poisoning," Brent went on. "His breath gives it away—it smells of bitter almonds."

"How exactly did cyanide end up in Michael's glass?" asked Richard slowly.

"Well," said Brent uncomfortably, "we would all be dead by now if cyanide was in _all_ our drinks, so I guess he must have...put the stuff in himself."

"But _why?"_ burst out Thomas. "I knew him better than all of you, and trust me—he would _not_ kill himself for _any_ reason."

"What other explanation is there?" pointed out Brent.

No one could answer that. Thomas looked down at his friend's body. "So," he said, "who wants to help me move him to his bedroom?"

"I will," volunteered Max.

As the two bent down to lift up Michael's body and carried it upstairs, Abbott said awkwardly, "Oh, look at the time. It's getting late. Maybe we should head up to bed?"

"It's not _that_ late," muttered Tabitha. Even so, none of them argued with Abbott's idea. They each headed up to their rooms and closed their doors behind them.

Almost unconsciously, they each locked their door...

* * *

Before heading off to bed, Thomas ran downstairs to the dining room, feeling something was a bit off. He took a look around—nothing _appeared_ to be out of the ordinary. He took a closer look at the Indian statuettes.

"How strange," he muttered. "I _swore_ there were ten of them..."

* * *

Lindsey sat on the bed and brushed her hair, having already changed, while Aimee lay down in her separate bed, feeling tired. "Thanks for defending me," said Aimee.

"You're welcome," said Lindsey awkwardly.

Aimee sat up and said, "Maybe we _should_ tell them ...about Vincent."

Lindsey stopped mid-brush. She lay the brush down on her nightstand while Aimee continued talking: "I know it's something we agreed to never speak a word about, but c'mon—I'm sure no one will ever tell. His death's already been labelled a suicide anyway, so..."

"No," said Lindsey firmly. "I don't want _anyone_ knowing."

"If anyone's going to be judged, it will be _me,"_ said Aimee calmly. "Not _you._ They'll understand if I just tell them what you went through and—"

"I said _no!"_ burst out Lindsey, shooting up from her bed. "What part of _no_ don't you understand? Now drop it and leave it alone!"

She fell back on the bed, crawled under the covers, and turned off her bedside lamp. Aimee sighed and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling a particularly strong memory coming on...

* * *

_Aimee was waiting for Lindsey in the bathroom when she came back. For the past two weeks, she seemed to always be 'tripping' or 'falling'. She knew Lindsey was lying to protect the very person who had been hurting her. And this time, she was going to get Lindsey to admit to it._

"_Aimee," said Lindsey, surprised. This time, Lindsey had a bruised jaw which she was barely hiding with her grey sweatshirt._

"_Vincent's doing this to you, isn't he," said Aimee, standing up from the bathtub's edge she had been sitting on. "I've done the research, I know you think it's your fault, but trust me, Vincent's the one with the problem. Not you."_

"_Aimee," said Lindsey slowly, "it's not like that. It really is my fault."_

"_No, it's not," said Aimee calmly._

"_Vincent has a temper," Lindsey went on, "and I'm just provoking it."_

"_Bullshit."_

"_As long as I just meet him when he says to, and as long as I just don't say the wrong things—"_

"_LIES!"_

_Aimee slammed her hand down on the sink, causing Lindsey to jump. "You have to break up with him, Lindsey," said Aimee firmly. "Nothing good comes out of an abusive relationship."_

"_But Vincent really loves me," said Lindsey in a small voice._

"_He doesn't love you, he only loves himself," said Aimee in the same, firm voice. "If you continue to stay with him, things will only get worse."_

"_You're wrong," said Lindsey, backing up. "Vincent's really a sweet guy. Things will get better. Just you wait and see."_

* * *

Aimee groaned and sat up. She wasn't going to get to sleep quite that easy tonight. There was something else she needed to get done.

* * *

Brent wasn't sure how many times he had winked to get himself to sleep, but he was sure he was way past forty now. Frustrated, he sat up in bed. He should've stayed home and helped Chloe with the baby. Then he wouldn't be here, forced to confront this painful truth.

He rubbed his aching temples and thought back...back to when he and Chloe were awaiting the results...

* * *

"_If it's pink, it's positive," muttered Chloe, pacing back and forth in the bathroom, her bare feet slapping the pristine white tiles. "If it's blank, it's negative."_

"_You know, we wouldn't be doing this if you had just listened to me after I caught the two of you in the act," said Brent._

"_Maybe it would've anyway," said Chloe, her brows furrowing. "Maybe that was when the baby was conceived...maybe."_

"_What are you going to tell mom and dad if the test comes back positive?" asked Brent. "Somehow, I don't think they'd be happy to learn you've been sleeping with our neighbour for quite some time."_

"_They don't have to know it was him," insisted Chloe. "We could just tell them I had this boyfriend I never told them about before." She looked over to Brent. "And you would cover for me, right?"_

"_Sooner or later, they're going to realize what you did," insisted Brent. "I won't be able to keep my promise for very long then." He sighed, "I think it's wrong just as much as you do, but there's this women's health clinic…"_

"_No!" cried Chloe, her eyes widening with horror. "How can you think such a thought?"_

"_It was worth suggesting, anyway," muttered Brent. He said, "So what are you planning on doing—just telling them you have a mysterious boyfriend and hope they never find out?"_

"_Yeah," nodded Chloe. "Exactly. And besides, the test might not even come back positive, anyway. It might just turn out I'm having this really bad stomach flu, that's all."_

_Just then, the egg timer went off. Brent turned to Chloe and said gently, "Ready?"_

_Chloe bit her lip and nodded. She held Brent's hand and clutched it tightly. She used the other hand to pick up the strip...which, sure enough, was a bright shade of pink._

_All the air went out of both their lungs in that moment. Chloe turned to Brent and buried her face in his sweater, crying. All Brent could do was just hold her gently._

* * *

"Bastard," muttered Brent. _"Bastard."_

He rolled over on one side. Jason Falcone deserved what had happened to him, and he was not going to feel the slightest bit guilty over what he had done.

* * *

Miranda sat up in bed and doodled in her diary. Even though she fully remembered the events of today in far more detail than she cared to remember, she just couldn't bring herself to put the words to paper. She stopped writing when she suddenly realized she had been doodling one name all over the two pages: _Ronnie._

Miranda sighed. It was just like eighth grade all over again...

* * *

_Miranda waited on top of the hill for Ronnie, who seemed to be coming up slowly but surely, dragging his bright blue toboggan behind him. It was the first day of the new year 2006, and she had planned on just the two of them having a romantic day out tobogganing down the hill, possibly going out for hot chocolate later...and maybe..._

_Miranda grinned at such a thought. Ronnie would be the one she would give her virginity to, she just knew it. She didn't care if people said they were too young, she knew age was no difference when two people were in love. She loved everything about Ronnie—his smile, his sense of humour, his way of just knowing things—everything. They had known each other since sixth grade and had only started going out back in the seventh grade, which continued to be steady into eighth grade. Many other couples had already split up by then. If she and Ronnie hadn't broken up by now, then nothing would ever come between them._

_Nothing._

_At last, Ronnie was at the top. Miranda smiled widely and said, "Hi, Ronnie. I was thinking that maybe after we're done, we could go out for some hot chocolate, and maybe back to my house to watch a movie or something. What do you think?"_

_Ronnie looked like there was something he wanted to tell Miranda, but just didn't have the courage to spit out. He finally said, "Miranda, we need to talk."_

_Miranda had a bad feeling as to what Ronnie was going to say, but she said, "Okay."_

_Ronnie put his hands on Miranda's shoulders, causing her to shiver slightly. "Miranda," he said, "you're a very sweet girl, and I'm really glad I got to know you, but...the thing is...you're smothering me."_

_Miranda blinked. "Smothering you?" she asked._

"_Yes, smothering," nodded Ronnie. "See, we're together almost all the time. I mean, I could handle it if it were just one or two days in the week, but you hardly let me have any time to myself anymore. You want us to be together all the time. I can't hang out with my friends anymore because you'll always ask me out to a movie, and get depressed if I say no. I can't try out for any team because just as I go to sign up, there you'll be, begging me to take you to the latest concert. And I just can't have time to myself because every minute I spend now is with you. I barely have enough time to study, so I end up going to bed later than usual."_

"_What are you saying?" asked Miranda, feeling as though she was being punched in the gut._

"_I'm saying," said Ronnie, "that we need some time apart."_

_Miranda's heart sank. "You're breaking up with me?" she said._

"_Sort of," said Ronnie. "I mean, yes. I am. I just can't handle this, anymore—I need time by myself to think."_

_Miranda bit her lip. She felt like she was going to cry._

"_Listen, Miranda," said Ronnie, lifting her chin up. "I'll take this time off to think. And maybe, just maybe, we'll get back together, okay?"_

_Miranda nodded. "Okay," she said._

* * *

That's what Ronnie _said..._but that wasn't what he _meant..._

"Stupid Ronnie," muttered Miranda, scratching out his name before taking the two pages out, crumpling them up, and aiming for the nearby wastepaper basket. Why think of him _now?_ He was just a silly crush she had.

A really silly, intense crush.

That was all.


	9. The Next Morning

The next morning, at around seven-thirty AM, people were beginning to wake up.

One of them did not...and could not.

* * *

Max and Tabitha got up almost simultaneously, each surprised to be greeting the other as they exited their rooms. They each decided to make use of this time by going downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

"So," said Tabitha as she flipped the French toast over in her frying pan, "get any sleep last night?"

"Not really," confessed Max. "I was too busy thinking about...what happened."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," nodded Tabitha. "Michael was quite the character when he was alive, wasn't he? You'd never think he would kill himself."

As she flipped the finished French toast onto the plate, she said, "Max...you don't think he was, well..._murdered,_ do you?"

"Anything's possible," shrugged Max, now placing his share onto the plate. "We can't rule that out until we know for certain what happened."

Tabitha shivered and said, "If...if Michael _was_ murdered...than the Surf's are true maniacs, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are," nodded Max. "Well, let's look on the bright side: Michael may very well have been the only one they intended to kill, and they just wanted to have us here as witnesses so we could attest it was a suicide. Therefore, there should be no more killings."

* * *

"I feel kind of rotten waking everyone up like this," admitted Tabitha as she and Max made their way up the stairs.

"Really?" said Max raising his eyebrows.

"No," laughed Tabitha with a smile and a toss of her slipknot ponytail. "I've always wanted to do this."

She ran down the hall to Miranda's room and banged on the door, loudly shouting, "Yo, Miranda! Get up off your ass and get out here!"

Max laughed in spite of himself.

The door creaked open and out came Miranda, her long, black hair looking slept-in, her face looking dangerous. "This had _better_ be good," she growled.

"We made breakfast," said Tabitha in a mock-chipper voice. "Come and get it before it gets co-old!"

"Hey who are you, my mom?" snapped Richard as he exited his room.

"Oh, good morning, Richard," said Max, smiling. "Did Tabitha wake you up?"

"Yes," said Richard, stepping forward. He slipped his hand in Tabitha's and said, "Not that I mind being woken up by someone so beautiful."

Tabitha rolled her eyes and slipped her hand out of Richard's hand, but smiled. She walked over to Thomas' door, only for Thomas to come out of his room saying, "I think we _all_ heard you, loud and clear."

"I swear you could wake up the _dead!"_ laughed Miranda. She realized what she had said and quickly said, "Uh, sorry."

"Oh yeah, I nearly forgot about Michael," nodded Richard.

"I still can't figure it out," muttered Thomas. "I just _can't."_

"Figure out what?" said a voice behind Thomas, causing him to jump and spin around. "Don't scare me like that," he snapped.

"Hey, I'm only curious," shrugged Abbott, who appeared to have just come out of his room. "So what's going on?"

"We're just getting everyone up for breakfast," said Tabitha innocently.

"And trying to figure out just what the hell happened last night," added Thomas.

"Oh, you mean with Michael?" said Abbott. "Yeah, I could never figure it out myself; he showed no remorse for Marion's death. Why should he feel guilty now?" He looked around. "Say, where's Brent and those creepy twins?"

"Probably still in their rooms," said Tabitha, who marched up to Brent's room and pounded on the door yelling, "Brent! Brent Short! Get off your ass _now!"_

There was no response.

"Strange," muttered Tabitha. She shrugged. "Must be a deep sleeper."

"Or," said the voice of Brent as the sound of his footsteps became louder from walking up the stairs, "maybe I'm already up."

"Brent?" said Tabitha, surprised to see Brent turning around the corner. "I didn't hear you get up."

"Oh, I've been up for some time now," shrugged Brent. "You and Max just didn't see or hear me, that's all."

"What have you been _doing_ all this time, then?" asked Tabitha.

"Thinking," said Brent ominously. "Just...thinking."

Just then, a harsh sobbing broke out, causing everyone to abruptly turn around. "That sounds like it's coming from the McMillan twins' room," said Max sharply, heading towards the room in question and turning the doorknob. When he opened the door, he and the others found Lindsey curled up on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands, fully dressed, while Aimee lay in bed peacefully.

"Lindsey?" said Miranda, taking a few steps forward. She and Lindsey had never been particularly close, but she just _knew_ something was seriously wrong. "What's wrong?"

"Aimee," sobbed Lindsey, not once looking up. "She—she's—she's _dead!"_

_"Dead?"_

"Are you _sure?"_

Now everyone's interests had been sparked. They each came pouring into the room. Lindsey looked up, her eyes red, and said softly, "I woke up from Tabitha's yelling a few minutes ago. I thought Aimee was just tired, so I left her for a minute and got dressed. I came out, and decided to wake her up. I—I tried _everything, _but she just _won't wake up."_

She began to cry again. Brent bent over Aimee's body and lifted up her eyelids. He let out a weary sigh, turned to the others, and said, "She's dead."

"Oh dear," sighed Thomas as Lindsey continued to cry.

* * *

Everyone came down for breakfast ten minutes later, after Lindsey calmed down and seemed to be in control.

"We made French toast," said Tabitha awkwardly, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

"How nice," said Lindsey stiffly. "It's been a while since I've had French toast." She smiled and said, "You know, I remember when Aimee and I were little, she and I used to fight over who got the powdered sugar to put on our slices, and we would get powder all over our faces!" She laughed, "Those were good times."

"Well, that's what's important," said Miranda. "Remembering the good times and pushing away the bad." She added wistfully, "If you _really_ love someone, you stay by them even if they're acting kind of nuts. It's just too bad _some_ people can't remember that."

"Miranda?" said Lindsey curiously.

"Oh, sorry," said Miranda quickly, blushing.

"Nah, it's okay," said Abbott. "We all get a little off-topic every now and then." He smiled at Miranda, causing her to blush even harder.

Thomas frowned, as though in deep concentration. "Hmm," he said. Then, he snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up. "I _was_ right!" he exclaimed. "There _were_ ten of them!"

"Ten of what?" asked Richard.

Thomas grabbed Richard by the shoulder and pointed to the centerpiece in the middle of the table. "Look! Look right there!" he cried. "Tell me, what do you see?"

"First of all, let me go before people get the wrong idea," said Richard calmly. Thomas did so and Richard said, "I see those little Indian statuettes from last night."

"Yes, but _how_ many?" cried Thomas. _"How_ _many are there?"_

"Eight," answered Miranda before Richard could count all of them. "There are eight...and last night, there were _ten!"_

"Exactly," nodded Thomas. "Except, right before we went to bed, I saw only _nine_ of them after...you know."

"Hmm," said Max, stroking his chin thoughtfully. _"Very_ interesting."

"What I can't figure out is what the hell it _means," _said Thomas. "I know it's symbolic of _something, _but I don't know _what."_

"Let's have breakfast first," spoke up Tabitha. "Then we'll talk."

After breakfast, everyone met up around the fireplace to discuss the strange events.

"So let's do a quick recap, shall we?" said Thomas, pacing back and forth. "First, we receive mysterious invitations from people we have never met. Then we're trapped. Then we're all accused of murder. _Then_ Michael is murdered. Now Aimee's next. And _now_ we find out that two of those Indian boys are missing."

"You know, I've been thinking," spoke up Lindsey. "If there were only enough rooms for _us..._then where would the _Surf's_ sleep?"

"That is an excellent point, Lindsey," said Thomas. "Perhaps the Surf's are in hiding somewhere, lurking in the shadows? There's only one way to know for sure: We will split up into two, separate groups of four and search the lodge top to bottom, as well as the area surrounding it. How does that sound?"

"I guess that _could_ work since we really don't have any alternatives," said Lindsey slowly.

"All in favour, show raise of hands," announced Thomas.

Everyone in the room raised their hands. They all wanted to put an end to the beginning of this nightmare.


	10. The Search

After much discussion, the remaining eight split up into two teams of four; Max, Miranda, Abbott, and Brent went together in one group; Lindsey, Richard, Tabitha, and Thomas went in another. The first group searched the house for a bit before going off into the surrounding forest.

"Find anything over there, Abbott?" called out Miranda as she searched through a nearby bush.

"Just this giant tree," replied Abbott. He whistled, "Dang, Michael _was_ right—every path is blocked. These Surf's are _good."_

"They went to great lengths to make sure we couldn't get away, that's for certain," remarked Max, taking a good look around the evergreen forest. "But why go to all this trouble, I wonder? Do they think we did indeed do those things we were accused of doing?"

"What I'd like to know," said Abbott, "is how the hell they found out in the first place. I mean, they could've just read about Kamp or Ronnie or Kayla in the newspaper, but who would really pay that much attention to Michael's case? That sort of stuff happens at parties all the time—if it didn't, MADD wouldn't even _exist._ I mean, dude, there's literally too many cases of someone dying of alcohol poisoning or an OD or whatever at someone's party to pick and choose just one and go, "a-ha—murder!" You know what I mean?"

"I don't approve of what he did," said Brent, pushing a few tree branches out of the way as he made his way forward. "But yes, I see what you mean."

"Just to clear everything up," said Max, "is there anything else anyone would like to say about the accusations against them last night? I'm going to say this much—I was never very close to Billy. I was only a bystander in his bullying, but I wish I could've done _more_ to stop it. Maybe then he'd be alive today." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Maybe, in a way, it _was_ murder. I could've stood up to the bullies, but I didn't."

"Don't listen to what those Surf's say," said Miranda sharply, stepping forward. "It was _not_ your fault, or _anyone's_ fault. We can't let them get to us."

"So," said Abbott, circling Miranda like a vulture, "is there anything you would like to say about Ronnie? You and Tabitha looked like you were ready to have a catfight last night when talking about him."

"Tabitha is anally retentive," said Miranda sharply, marching off. Abbott, Max, and Brent followed her.

"You know, Miranda," said Abbott, catching up to her, "I thought I heard the other girls at school talking a while back. They said you and Tabitha used to be friends until something happened in the eighth grade. Did Ronnie have anything to do with it?"

Miranda stopped walking. She turned to face Abbott and said calmly, "It's not _that_ complicated; I liked Ronnie, but he liked my best friend. _End of story."_

"You're cute when your eyes get that like that," remarked Abbott.

Miranda huffed and leaned against a nearby tree, doing whatever she could to make sure she was looking away from Abbott.

"Touchy," remarked Abbott.

"Abbott," said Brent, "was there any, ah, tension between you and your brother?"

"No, never," said Abbott quickly. "Why?" His eyes narrowed. "You're not suggesting..."

"For the record, I think it's despicable to betray your own siblings," said Brent coldly. "They're your _family."_

"Who said I did, huh?" said Abbott defensively. "And for your information, Caleb and I had our 'issues', but I would _never, ever..."_

He stopped suddenly and said, "What about you, Mr. Perfect? Are you _really_ that good of a big brother, hmm? If so, just _how_ protective exactly _are_ you?"

"Very," replied Brent bluntly. He said, "I've been doing some thinking this morning, and...I think it's about time I told the truth for a change." He gestured for the remaining three to come into a circle, and they did so.

Brent looked into their eyes and spoke: "Last spring, a new family moved just down the street from us. They were...the Falcone family. It was a couple in their mid-thirties. They had no children. The husband was my father's co-worker. I noticed he and my sister, Chloe, got along quite well. I thought nothing of it...at first.

"And then...one day—you all remember I was on the yearbook committee last year, right? Well, on this particular day, the meeting let out early. And when I came home and went upstairs to my room..."

"You found the Falcone dude screwing your sister," finished Abbott bluntly.

Brent seethed and nodded. "After I just about blinded Falcone chasing him out of the house, my sister explained the two of them were "in love" to use her words. I tried to explain to her that she was being naive, that Falcone was just taking advantage of her, but she wouldn't listen. She made me swear not to tell our parents...and I, being the fool I was, agreed.

"Nearly a month later, Chloe woke me up and told me, with tears pouring down her face, that she thought she might be pregnant." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "When the test came back positive, she said she would tell our parents she just had a boyfriend on the side she never told them about. And so she did. Our parents were _not_ pleased, and I knew from the looks on their faces that they would be even angrier if they knew about Falcone and so, I kept quiet, wondering what Chloe was going to tell Falcone."

He chuckled, "Well, I got my answer when I asked all right—she had told Falcone a while back, and he promised to pay child support as long as she didn't told a soul about the two of them. And then, when Chloe was six months along, he stopped paying because he claimed his wife was beginning to suspect the truth. _That_ was when she marched up to our parents and told them everything. They weren't as angry with her as I thought they would be—actually, all their anger was directed at Falcone. They called him up and threatened to charge him with statutory rape—the age of consent had been changed from fourteen to sixteen a while back, you see."

He clenched his fists. "And then...that _bastard_ blackmailed my father. A few years ago, my father embezzled money from the company he worked for. Falcone was the only one who knew of this, and he threatened to have _that _exposed in court if we pressed charges against him, or if we tried to force him to pay child support."

He shook his head in disgust. "I tried to tell my father not to let his blackmail get to him, that we could rise above it, but he said our reputation has to come first. He and my mother pressured Chloe into giving the baby up for adoption, but she refused, and so they reached a compromise: My parents would take care of the baby while Chloe was in school and on school nights when she had to sleep, and she would take care of it the rest of the time."

Now, he began to smile. "I still remember being called out of class to be told that Chloe was in labour and wanted only _me_ to be by her side the rest of those long hours. And so I did." He said in a softer tone, "I swear to God, I had never seen Chloe happier in her entire life than when she held Cecil, my nephew, her _son,_ in her arms for the very first time. I knew then I had to do whatever it took to protect her. _Whatever_ it took."

"So you killed the bastard," said Abbott in the same, blunt tone.

Brent nodded. "A week or so later, Falcone called me over to his house and informed me that he was going to blackmail my father anyway. He told me to pass on the message to pay fifteen-hundred dollars by the following Monday, or else he would have him arrested."

He shook his head. "But _that_ wasn't what set me off. No...it was what he said when I asked what would happen if I _didn't_ pass on the message. And he said...he said he and his wife would fight for full custody of Cecil and have him taken away from Chloe."

The smile had vanished. Brent was trembling with rage as he spoke: "I was calm. I was collected. I was able to control myself as I stood up, thanked him for his time, picked up the handgun he kept in his drawer, and shot him through the head. I was still wearing my winter gloves, and I had seen him earlier handle it, so I knew it would look like a suicide. To further set the scene up, I forged a note in his handwriting where he confessed to his horrible crimes."

He continued to look into their eyes, which now contained looks of shock and horror: "My parents never figured it out, nor did any of the neighbours, or Mrs. Falcone, who moved a few days later, and we never saw her again. Chloe, on the other hand...she could never look at me in the same way after that. I never _told_ her, but I think she _knew."_

"Brent," said Miranda softly, "that's...I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," said Brent, turning his back on the others. "It'll all be over soon anyway."

"What do you mean?" asked Miranda.

"I mean," said Brent, turning around, now with a creepy smile on his lips. "That we're all going to die, of course. None of us will leave Hunter's Lodge."

"Don't talk like that, Brent," said Max calmly. "I know things look bad, but we _will_ catch those Surf's and get out of here alive."

"We'll get out of here, all right," nodded Brent. "We'll be leaving in body bags."

And that was all he had to say before turning around once more, to walk through the forest, the nearby chirping birds suddenly flying away as though they sensed something awful coming their way.

* * *

"No one over here," announced Richard as he and the others turned his room upside down.

"Damn it," groaned Tabitha. "That's _every_ room."

"Maybe we're just not looking hard enough," suggested Lindsey.

"Where else is there to look?" pointed out Thomas. "We've looked _everywhere."_

"Maybe they've escaped already," said Lindsey. "Maybe, after they—killed Aimee—they ran off. Maybe they found a secret path, chopped down the last tree behind, and ran off."

Richard sighed and ran his hands through his dark hair. "So now what?" he said exasperatedly. "They just...get away while we stay here, trapped?"

"We're not trapped," said Tabitha firmly. "In four days time, the shuttle _will_ come back for us."

"What if the Surf's sent out orders for the shuttle to _not_ come back?" pointed out Richard.

Tabitha ignored this and marched off over to one of the windows. She looked out at the stretching blend of green that was the forest and muttered, "I wonder, I wonder." She turned to Lindsey and said, "Lindsey...is there more to your accusation than what you told us last night?"

"What are you talking about?" said Lindsey, sitting down on the bed.

"Are you _sure_ the kid _just_ died of cancer?" said Tabitha, standing above her. "And that his death wasn't, perhaps, _brought on_ by something you did?"

Lindsey's eyes widened and she shot up. "What kind of a question is _that?"_ she cried.

"Now Lindsey," said Richard, walking over to the two girls, "if you _did_ kill him, we won't judge you for it. It wouldn't be murder so much as...shortening the poor kid's suffering. Now you said you didn't remember the _exact_ form of leukemia he had. Do you think you remember now?"

"Leave her alone, you guys," said Thomas, stepping in. "If she doesn't want to talk, then leave her alone."

"You're one to talk," sneered Richard. "You didn't say _anything_ about your friend other than 'it was a tragedy'—_everything _is a fucking tragedy!"

"You know what," said Thomas suddenly. "You're right. I think I _will_ tell you all, seeing as we're going to die here anyway."

"We are _not_ going to die," said Tabitha firmly.

Thomas ignored this and said, "My parents used to fight a lot when I was little. I didn't understand why back then; it was confusing to see my parents happy one day and then screaming the next. They were always fighting, always arguing. One time, I came home with a finger painting from pre-school, and instead of even going, "that's nice, dear", my dad just tossed it aside and continued to fight with my mom over God knows what."

His eyes shined as he went on: "And then, one day, I discovered a way to get their attention. One day, we were at this theatre, and then there was this fire. They had stopped arguing when we had to get out. And so, I...became a pyromaniac. I'd get my hands on whatever matches I could find and just let them loose around the house."

He smiled. "My parents would smell smoke, see me in the living room or kitchen or whatever, and rush me out. They weren't fighting anymore. We were a _family."_

"Thomas?" said Tabitha, concerned.

"It wasn't until the sixth time that they realized," said Thomas, the smile slowly falling off his face. "They took me to some kid's psychiatrist, where I was diagnosed. Well, to make a long story short, my parents went into marital counselling and got better, while I went into counselling and got better." His eyes shifted. "Or so I thought."

"How does Caden Black tie into this?" asked Richard.

Thomas sighed and walked over to the window, not looking at any of them as he spoke: "It was at that Kings and Queens concert a few years ago. Caden and I went, but it wasn't very good. The lead guitarist broke a few strings, the drummer looked like he was drunk, and the lead singer's lip synching was worse than Ashlee Simpson's. Caden and I went to the bathroom halfway through just to get away from it. While he was using a stall, I saw a pack of matches someone had carelessly left behind. I can't explain, but I had this..._urge._ A _compulsion._ I tried to restrain myself, I really did, but I thought, 'what the heck—just once for old times' sake'. So I struck a match and threw it in the garbage can. It wasn't until it burst into flames that I realized what I had done."

He shook his head and said, "I ran out of the building before the fire alarm even went off. I found out later that while Caden was inside, he had died from smoke inhalation. Ever since then, I have been seriously working on restraining myself."

"And they never figured out it was you?" said Richard.

Thomas shook his head. "They couldn't find anything at the scene of the crime. But I knew. I always knew." He turned around and smiled an eery smile. "It wouldn't be so bad, actually, if the Surf's killed us all," he said. "Then our misery would be over and done with."

Thomas walked right past the horrified three and closed the door behind him without once looking back. Tabitha shook her head and said, "Well, one of us just went nuts. We'll just leave him alone for now."

* * *

Only one of them thought, _Ah, my plan is unfolding just nicely. Just have to keep putting on a mask of innocence and none of them will suspect a thing. And now, time to kill my next victim..._


	11. The Discovery

"Find anything, Miranda?" asked Max as he and the group stood near the lake, waiting for Miranda to come out of the woods.

"Nope, not even a stray animal," said Miranda, shaking her head furiously.

"Damn it," said Max, kicking the grass. "There goes another theory. Hey, where's Brent?"

"He said he was going to stay behind for a bit," explained Miranda. "He said he had to do some thinking."

"Ah," said Max. "I see. I guess that's normal after making a huge confession. Well, anyway, I suppose we _should_ head back to the lodge."

Max and Abbott began to turn around. Miranda took one last look at her surroundings, then followed close behind.

Tabitha stood in the living room, looking up at the wooden clock hanging on the wall in between the bookcases. It was just about lunchtime. The others had gone off to prepare lunch. Thomas, however, preferred to stay in his room for the time being. She had gone in and tried to get him to come out, but he said he wanted to be alone.

Well, she supposed she couldn't really blame him; he had just made a confession to something he had kept secret for years. She'd be a bit shaken-up herself if anyone knew about...

Tabitha sighed and headed off to the kitchen. She was going to help with lunch to take her mind off this.

* * *

The murderer smiled. At last, the next victim had been taken. All they had to do now was wait for some poor soul to make a gruesome discovery...

* * *

"Lunch is almost ready," Richard announced, poking his head out of the kitchen doors as Max, Abbott, and Miranda walked into the dining room. He slid his head back in and closed the doors.

"Wonder what it will be?" said Abbott. "I hope it's an omelette. I don't know about you, but I _seriously_ crave an omelette right now."

"I hope not," said Max. "The last time Richard attempted to cook an omelette in Home Ec, he nearly burned the kitchen down."

"I can hear you!" shouted Richard's voice on the other side of the door.

"I don't care!" Max shouted back.

Abbott and Miranda laughed. They smiled at each other. "You're real pretty when you smile," said Abbott, tucking a strand of raven hair behind Miranda's ear. "All morning, you've been looking really sad. You should smile more often."

Miranda's cheeks flushed. "Thanks," she said. "I'll try to keep that in mind." She looked away from Abbott, feeling her heart pound wildly. This...this was the same feeling she had when she first met Ronnie...and when she saw him betray her...

* * *

"_Hey, Miranda!" said Tabitha enthusiastically as Miranda came running down the school halls to the locker she and Tabitha shared. "How was your spring break?"_

"_Pretty good, actually," replied Miranda. "My family and I went down to Florida. We took Riley to Disney World, and she loved every minute of it. Well, she loved it; my feet didn't!"_

"_I can only imagine!" laughed Tabitha. "My mom needed a wheelchair by the end of the day!"_

_Miranda laughed and said, "So, how was yours?"_

"_It was good," shrugged Tabitha. "Not too special. We didn't go anywhere this year, which was kind of a bummer, but oh well."_

"_Well, was there anything around here that you did do?" asked Miranda. "Like, did you go to the opening of that new pizza place downtown? I've always wanted to go with Ronnie."_

"_Um, yeah," said Tabitha, her eyes avoiding Miranda's eyes. "It was really cool." She quickly said, "You know, you should check out their mushroom pizza. It's like, really, really good."_

"_Hey, Tabitha!"_

_Miranda turned around at the sound of the voice, which rang familiar. Her heart leapt in her throat when she saw Ronnie coming her way._

"_Ronnie," whispered Miranda. She smiled...only for Ronnie to walk right past her and give Tabitha a hug and a peck on the cheek._

_That was when she felt the sledgehammer make contact with her heart and her stomach. Ronnie was her boyfriend. They hadn't broken up; they had just taken some time apart. Didn't Tabitha realize that?_

_Tabitha pulled out of Ronnie's embrace and gave Miranda an apologetic look. Ronnie said, "Hey, Miranda. How was your spring break?"_

_Miranda blinked and felt hot tears sting her eyes. "Fine," she snapped. "It was the best time of my life!" She marched down the hall and past her class, suddenly not feeling up to going that day._

* * *

"That backstabbing _whore,"_ growled Miranda, kicking a chair. How could Tabitha just disregard her feelings like that? Then maybe she wouldn't have been driven to...

"Yo, Miranda," said a voice that took Miranda by the shoulders, causing her to relax. She turned around and saw it was Abbott who had a gentle grip on her. "Are you okay?"

Miranda nodded furiously and pushed Abbott off of her, turning around to fix her gaze on the Indian figurines, not realizing there were only seven...

"I think we're almost done," said Lindsey, adding a dash of pepper to the salmon. "What do you say we serve lunch?"

"Nah, let 'em starve," joked Richard. "If they get hungry, they can eat each other for survival."

"Richard, you are _so_ immature," said Tabitha, rolling her eyes.

"You're one to talk," said Richard, giving Tabitha a playful slap on the butt. She gasped and slapped him across the face. Richard grinned and turned to Lindsey, "She wants me. You know it, and I know it. She just doesn't know it."

Lindsey rolled her eyes and gathered each individual dish. "Help me serve these, will you?"

"Hey," said Abbott as he and the others began to eat their lunch, "has anyone seen Brent? I _thought_ he came back with us."

"I told you, remember?" said Miranda as she stabbed her fork into the salmon. "He said he needed to stay behind and think for a bit."

"Well, Thomas went to his room to 'think for a bit', too," remarked Tabitha.

"Maybe we should go get them before their lunches turn cold," suggested Lindsey. "Two of us can go and get the boys from our groups. Tabitha, you get Thomas; Miranda, you get Brent. How's that?"

"What the heck," shrugged Tabitha, standing up.

Miranda silently stood up. As the two girls headed off, it could be noticed that they were doing whatever they could to ignore each other.

* * *

Tabitha took one look at Miranda turning to the door. She thought about calling after her and commenting on the situation, but decided against it. She was getting weird vibes from Miranda. She wasn't one to believe in any of that New Age junk, but she just had a very weird, very bad feeling about her former best friend.

That perhaps...she was on the verge of becoming an animal herself...

_You listen to Three Days Grace too many times, Hart,_ Tabitha scolded herself. She rolled her eyes and headed up the wooden stairs, each step creaking behind, giving off the feel that she was being followed.

At last, she made it to the top of the stairs. She turned to the right and began walking down the hall, feeling the hairs on her back turn up.

"Get a grip on yourself, Hart," she muttered. "There's nothing behind you. No one's following you. You're just _fine."_

At last, she made it to Thomas' door. She knocked on the door and said, "Thomas? It's time for lunch."

There was no response.

Tabitha shrugged. If she was going to have to force Thomas out, so be it. She placed one hand on the doorknob, clutching the cold, hard brass a bit too tightly.

She opened the door...

* * *

Clouds drew upon the sun like a curtain. It gave the outdoors a creepier atmosphere, causing Miranda to shiver in spite of it being not that cold.

Miranda felt bad about ignoring Tabitha. She wished she could've at least taken the time to make small talk with her back there. She sighed. Oh, _what_ was wrong with her? Why did she have to be so obsessive? Why couldn't she just let the past rest?

"Hello?" called out Miranda as she made her way through the forest. "Brent? It's time to come in. Brent?"

She suddenly remembered the spot where he had been left at and began to run towards that spot...

* * *

"Max!" said Richard suddenly, tugging at Max's sleeve. "Everybody! Look at the centerpiece!"

There were only seven Indian boys.

"Oh shit," said Abbott, leaping up from his chair at the same time Richard, Max, and Lindsey did. "We'd better go find those girls and warn them."

Everyone ran out of the dining room, up the stairs, down the hall, and straight to Thomas' room, where the door just happened to be ajar.

"Thomas!" gasped Lindsey.

"What is it _now?"_ snapped Thomas, sitting up in bed.

"Thank God, you're alive!" breathed Lindsey, throwing her arms around Thomas who merely grumbled, "Get off me."

"Thomas was napping," explained Tabitha. "I was about to wake him up when you guys came. Abbott?" she said, concerned when Abbott's face paled. "What's wrong?"

"Shit," gasped Abbott. "That means Brent..."

He was cut off by the sound of a scream that echoed throughout the forest, startling the remaining birds.

* * *

Within five minutes, the remaining six had run out into the forest, where they found a pale, trembling Miranda covering up her mouth as though to suppress the urge to vomit...and Brent's body lying on the forest grounds, his head horribly smashed in, a blood-stained rock lying right next to him...


	12. The Discussion

After quietly placing Brent's body in his room, the others met up in the living room to discuss the strange events of the past twenty-four hours.

"This is insanity, pure _insanity,"_ declared Richard as he paced around the living room, looking to each guests' worried faces. "What reason would the Surf's have for doing this to us? They don't know _any_ of us."

"Perhaps," spoke up Max, "the Surf's are some sort of vigilante group. Perhaps they came to find out about our crimes in one way or another, and realized the law could not touch us. Perhaps they decided that if the law could not punish us, then they would do so themselves."

"Great," said Richard, letting out a laugh. "So we're in a game of cat-and-mouse with the Surf's, eh? Well I say, bring it on! Think we're guilty? Go ahead, think that. _We'll_ show _you."_

"What about the Indians?" piped up Lindsey. "Whenever one of us dies, an Indian disappears. Is it a coincidence, or..."

"_Nothing_ can be assumed to be a coincidence at this point, Lindsey," said Max calmly. "We all must assume everything is connected."

"One said he'd stay right there and then there were seven," said Miranda suddenly. She looked around the group. "Well, Brent _did_ say he wanted to stay behind to think for a bit. And...Michael 'choked himself' while Aimee 'overslept herself'."

"Ah," said Thomas, now interested. "So _that's_ how it's being done, eh? These Surf's are picking us off one by one in accordance to that gruesome little rhyme. Well, it's official—if those murders didn't already prove we're dealing with madmen, then this pretty much cements it."

"No shit," said Richard in a deadpan tone.

"I mean it," said Thomas. "The only question is, who are these madmen and where the hell are they?"

"I think we should've figured out that answer to _that_ little question a long time ago, Sherlock," said Richard, stepping forward. "Justin Surf is here."

"How can he be?" cried out Thomas. "We tore the place apart and there's no sign of anyone _anywhere!_"

"But that's just it," said Richard, suddenly very serious. "We've been looking in the wrong places. We looked all over the lodge, and around it, when all we had to do was look right in front of us."

"You mean...?" whispered Tabitha.

Richard turned to Tabitha and said solemnly, "Yes, Tabitha. Justin Surf..._is one of us."_

"No," burst out Miranda. "No way. He can't be. One of _us?"_

Richard glared at Miranda. "Miranda," he said sternly, "this is not the time to snuggle up next to our blankie and suck our thumb and tell ourselves everything's all right when we know it _isn't._ One of us is a dangerous psychopath who plans on killing each of us off one by one until no one is left. _Deal with it."_

Miranda shrank back. Abbott spoke up: "How can we be _certain_ it's one of us? How do we know we just didn't miss a room?"

"We looked _everywhere,_ Abbott," said Tabitha. "There's _no one _but the remaining seven of us."

Max cleared his throat. "So," he said, "until help arrives, what do we do?"

"Maybe we could all stay together in one room and allow one of us to leave at a time for the occasional bathroom break or something?" suggested Lindsey.

"Best idea I've heard all day," remarked Richard.

* * *

"So," said Miranda as she and Abbott sat at the nearby window sill, "do you think Richard's right? Do you think it's one of us?"

"What other explanation is there?" said Abbott. "Aliens did it? No, I think Richard's on to something. He's full of BS most of the time, but I think he's right this time."

"If," said Miranda, her voice all of a sudden hushed, "if it _is_ one of them...who do you think it is?"

"Ah," said Abbott, smiling and putting one arm around Miranda's shoulder. "So you're excluding us, eh? Fine by me—I know I'm no maniac, and I don't think you are, either."

_If only you knew,_ thought Miranda, but she only said, "Thank you."

"I mean it," said Abbott. "I think you're very sane and balanced." He lowered his voice and said, "Unlike good ol' _Richard_, on the other hand."

"You think it's Richard?" said Miranda, surprised. "Why?"

"There's just something about him," said Abbott. "He'd act really weird whenever we brought up the subject of Emmeline in the past. Either he is plagued by grief and wants to forget..._or,_ he is haunted by guilt and doesn't want us to find out his true agenda. Perhaps his paranoia got him so wound-up, he snapped and thought we all knew, and he's just using our supposed murders as excuses so he can kill us off so there's no one to speak out against him. Make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess," nodded Miranda. "Although...I think you're wrong. I think it's Thomas."

"_Thomas?"_ said Abbott, surprised. "Now what reason would _he_ have for wanting to kill all of us?"

"I haven't worked out the motive yet," said Miranda, "but Thomas _is_ pretty smart. He acts perfectly sane, and he's one of the sweetest guys you could ever meet. Only...psychopaths don't really _act_ crazy. They act like a normal person until...until they go in for the kill."

"So you're suspecting him on mentality alone?" asked Abbott.

"You have to admit it's possible," said Miranda.

"Well, because it's coming from you, of course it's possible," said Abbott.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "You're just saying that to get in my pants, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," said Abbott playfully, laughing as Miranda hit him with a couch pillow.

* * *

"Look at them," sighed Max, observing Abbott and Miranda from a distance while talking to Thomas and Lindsey. "They think this is all just a dumb game."

"Well, maybe they're just trying to take their minds off this," suggested Lindsey. "It's better than thinking about the reality, isn't it?"

"But we can't ignore it forever," pointed out Thomas.

"So, Thomas, who do you think our killer is?" asked Max.

"Just between you and me," said Thomas in a hushed voice, "I think it's that Miranda chick we ought to keep an eye on."

"Miranda?" said Lindsey, surprised. "But she always seemed so nice."

"And that is why we suspect her," said Thomas. "Remember Tabitha's boyfriend who got killed, Ronnie? And remember Miranda's tense reaction to Tabitha callously bringing it up when we were accused? I think she might have been in love with him. When he left her, she decided that if she couldn't have him, no one could, and had him done away with."

"You have a point," admitted Max. "But it doesn't make sense—she may have had a motive to kill Ronnie, but why the rest of us?"

"Maybe she snapped," said Thomas. "Maybe she decided _all_ of us had been keeping her beloved Ronnie away from her."

"I think you're wrong," said Lindsey, shaking her head. "Miranda's just too nice."

"It's _always_ the nice girls who snap the worse," pointed out Thomas. "But in any event, who do you think is our killer, Lindsey?"

"Tabitha," said Lindsey without the slightest hesitation. "Maybe _she_ killed Ronnie and pinned the blame on Miranda. Maybe _she's_ the real psychopath here."

"Maybe," said Max thoughtfully. "However...I have my own theory as to who the killer might be..."

"Really?" said Lindsey. "Whom?"

Max looked right into Lindsey's eyes. "I'm looking at her right now," he said calmly.

"Wait," said Lindsey slowly, "you think it's _me?"_

"Who else could it be?" said Max. "You're smart and pretty, both of which you can use to your advantage—your smarts to put these murders into action, and your looks to fool everyone into thinking you're innocent."

"Well," said Lindsey, playing with her hands, biting her lip, "that's ridiculous. Why would I want to kill my own sister?"

"To make us answer that very question," replied Max. "Why _would_ you want to kill your sister? Would it happen to be because she's a pawn in your scheme to cast suspicion on yourself?"

Lindsey's eyes narrowed. "How _dare_ you," she said angrily.

"That's enough, Max," spoke up Thomas. He put an assuring hand on Lindsey's shoulder and said, "When the police get here, we will find out if you are correct or not."

* * *

Tabitha and Richard sat on the stairs, observing the action below.

"They're like animals," remarked Tabitha. "All of them."

"Lindsey looks pretty pissed, that's for sure," said Richard.

"Not just Lindsey," said Tabitha, shaking her head. _"All_ of them. They could turn on each other at any moment now."

"What about me?" said Richard. "You don't think _I_ could turn on you?"

"Well," said Tabitha, entwining her hand with Richard's, "you're different."

Richard smiled. "So, which one of us do you think is the most animalistic one of all?" he said.

Without the slightest hesitation, Tabitha replied, "Max."

"_Max?"_ said Richard, raising his eyebrows. "Why?"

"There's something about him that just creeps me out," said Tabitha in a hushed tone. "He's really mature, which is something all girls look for in a guy, but he's a little _too_ mature. He seems to know things, or figure out things, that most sixteen or seventeen-year-olds shouldn't. Maybe _he's_ our murderer."

"Nah," said Richard, shaking his head. "I don't think it's Max. He's a little creepy, true, but between you and me, I think Abbott is the one we ought to go after."

_"Abbott?"_ said Tabitha, wrinkling up her nose. _"That_ little scum?"

"It's _because_ he's scum that we ought to suspect him," Richard reasoned. "Oh sure, he acts like life's one big game to him, but what if it's all just an act? What if he really takes everything seriously? What if he takes what we supposedly did a little _too_ seriously? What if," his eyes flashed, "he is playing a game of his own—one sick, fucked-up mind game of chess?"

"Wow," breathed Tabitha. "I never thought of _that. _Oh, Richard!"

She threw her arms around Richard, nearly knocking the two of them down the stairs. Surprised but pleased, Richard held Tabitha close. "There, there, Tabby," he said gently. "No need to worry. Help will eventually arrive, and we'll be out of here soon."

"Hey, lovebirds!" called out Abbott as he walked past the stairs with Miranda. "Why don't you stop making out, and start helping us with dinner?"

"Shut up, Lamb," snarled Tabitha, but Richard said, "Now, Tabitha—we mustn't be so rude. Of course we'll help."

* * *

Seven left...seven animals trapped in a cage, not noticing the lion right in front of them...


	13. The Memories

"It feels like we've been stuck here for, like, a hundred years, doesn't it?" remarked Tabitha as she, Miranda, and Lindsey prepared dinner. Tonight's course was cow tongue, still fresh from the fridge.

"Totally," said Miranda, not looking up from the cutting board.

Lindsey stood by the stove and waited for the timer to beep. With a flick of her brown hair, she looked up at the clock and chewed her bottom lip. 5:45, just another minute until the oven was pre-heated. She leaned against the counter and sighed, wondering if Aimee would be helping them if she were still alive.

Or would she be out there with the other boys?

Or would she be up in their room reading a book until dinner instead of…

Lindsey rubbed her wrist and looked down. Her skin was smooth, peachy, and clear.

Unlike the afternoon she had gone to break up with Vincent…

* * *

_Lindsey rolled up the sleeve of her grey, over-sized sweatshirt, hoping no one else nearby noticed it. It was a cold November day and she was supposed to meet Vincent in the park. Of course, she would go as she had always gone._

_But today would be different. Today, she would break things off with Vincent for good._

_And she wouldn't be alone._

_Lindsey turned to Aimee, who whispered, "You remember how we practiced it, right?"_

_Lindsey nodded. "But what if it doesn't work? What if he hurts me?"_

"_That's why I came," said Aimee. She held Lindsey's hand and the two marched over to the lone bench where Vincent sat leaning over his cell phone and texting._

_Lindsey squeezed Aimee's hand tighter and took one step forward. And then another. And then another._

"_Vincent?"_

_Vincent turned off his cell phone. In the few seconds he snapped it shut, she took a step back and huddled closer to Aimee._

_As he stood up, his face grew dark. "What's she doing here?" he asked. "I told you to come alone."_

_He walked up to her with a hand raised, but Aimee said, "If you hit my sister now, I'll call the police. Just listen to what she has to say first."_

_Vincent's hand stopped mid-air. He lowered it and folded his arms. "Talk."_

_Lindsey gulped. In spite of the sick feeling in her stomach telling her to run, she stood firmly and said, "Vincent, it's over. This thing, between you and me…it's over."_

_She could barely breathe as the look on his face wrenched. His eyebrows narrowed, his eyes bulged, and he clenched his teeth._

"_I really think we need to stop going out for now," said Lindsey, her voice trembling as hard as her body. "Please, Vincent…it's for the best—"_

_The next thing she knew, she was violently thrown onto the ground, her face smacked against the grass. But another person was on top of her. She felt a weight pressing her down and heard a voice scream, "Don't you dare touch her!"_

"_No one breaks up with me! No one!" screamed Vincent. "I'll kill you, bitch! I'll kill you!"_

_Lindsey was jerked up to her feet and before she could say or do anything, Aimee grabbed onto her wrist and took off. Not knowing what else to do, Lindsey continue to run alongside Aimee, her feet and heart pounding._

_And as they ran, Vincent declared:_

"_I know where you live! I'll kill you for this! Do you hear me? I'll kill you before you go to anyone else!"_

* * *

_Ding._

Lindsey jumped a foot in the air. She realized how hard she was trembling and drew a few, deep breaths to steady herself. "U, um…is the, the oven, um, r—ready?" she said.

Tabitha nodded. "Guess so."

Lindsey ran her hands across her face and thought, _My sister did so much for me. And how did I repay her? By yelling at her. I should've been glad when Vincent was dead, but…but…._

"You okay?" asked Tabitha.

Lindsey nodded and smiled. "Yeah, yeah sure."

Tabitha shrugged and turned back to the counter. Lindsey sure was skittish today. Just like everyone else.

Just like her.

Tabitha picked off dry nail polish and wondered to herself if Kayla would have done more than just stand here.

Of course, if Kayla were here, Tabitha wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.

Tabitha's fingers curled under the kitchen counter. Kayla may have known everything, but had she ever actually _been_ through anything? Like Tabitha had?

* * *

"_And, um, how's Cameron?" Tabitha asked over the phone. She glanced over her shoulder at the other students passing by. She only had a few minutes to use the school pay phone, then she had to go off to class. Right now, her first priority was finding out how her older brother's morning at the hospital went…assuming it was any better than the night before._

"_Oh, he's doing fine," assured her mother. "He's more comfortable now and is on some medication for the pain."_

"_Is he, um…passing any more…you know…?" Tabitha kept her voice hushed. Even if it was a 'common medical problem' as the doctor had claimed, it would still be embarrassing for others to hear._

"_Kidney stones? No, he's long past that now," said her mother. "The worst of it is over now."_

"_Oh," said Tabitha, rubbing one ankle behind the other. Then, "Um…did dad see him this morning?"_

"_No, your father decided that his precious job is more important than the well-being of his own children," sighed her mother. "As usual."_

_Tabitha clenched the phone tightly. "I'm sorry, honey," said her mother. "I know you don't like it when I talk about your father like that, but trust me, the divorce really was for the best. You'll see that a few years from now."_

_Yeah, except most parents divorce when their kid is eight, not fourteen, Tabitha thought. Out loud, she said, "I've got to get to class now. I'll see you after school."_

_She hung up and walked briskly down the hall. It had been two months since her parents' divorce was finalized, five since they had made the actual announcement. When Cameron was rushed to the hospital, Tabitha had the tiniest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, this would bring their parents back together._

_And of course, they were too selfish to put their own needs aside for the sake of their children._

_Tabitha pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, wishing she could stop thinking about how useless it all was, but couldn't. The only thought about her life that gave her any hope at all was the thought of cheerleading tryouts coming up after school. She held on to the thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be all it took to snap her out of this. Maybe then she'd stop having the 'thoughts' and the 'impulses'. Maybe it would finally give her a reason to wake up every morning._

_Maybe—_

"_Hey!"_

_Tabitha was abruptly stopped upon accidentally bumping a girl with vibrant red hair. "Whoa, are you okay?" said the girl._

"_Yeah, sure," shrugged Tabitha, walking right past her. Deep down, she thought:_

_No, I'm not._

* * *

That had been the day she met Kayla. At the time, she had just been another person whom she passed by in the hall. How could she have known that Kayla would secure that spot that had been her reason to hang on? How could she have foreseen the jealousy that would consume her, greater and greater until—

"Can you give me a hand?"

Tabitha turned at the sound of Miranda's voice. "Uh, sure."

She walked over. Miranda lifted up the knife.

She froze.

"Can you throw this in the sink for me?" said Miranda, her voice dull.

Tabitha nodded, grabbed the knife, and tossed it in the sink as though it were a slimy worm.

Miranda paused. She knew there was another step she had to take to speed up the cooking, but that step evaded her mind. Instead, she was consumed with thoughts of Ronnie.

Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie…

_Ronnie…why did you abandon me?_ Miranda thought. _Why did you leave me for my own best friend? Were the two of you sneaking around behind my back for months? Is that it? Is that the real reason you broke up with me—so you could be with the girl you loved?_

Even as he had walked down the hall right next to her, he never noticed her, or even looked her way. He had held Tabitha's hand the entire time. He had smiled his gorgeous smile, but he hadn't directed it towards Miranda, it had been towards _her._ Everything _she_ had said, even if it wasn't funny, he laughed at. He just laughed and laughed and _laughed…_

Was he sleeping with her? Was _she_ precious enough to be worth sleeping with?

Of course. Why else would Tabitha start clinging to him so _closely_ or look at him in _that_ way?

In fact…what if they had already slept together _before_ Ronnie broke up with Miranda?

And maybe _she_ was the reason they broke up…

In which case…that little _slut_ had to die…

Miranda slammed her fist on the counter hard enough to rattle the pots and pans hanging above.

"Miranda?" said Lindsey. She walked up to the two girls and said, "Is something wrong?"

Miranda realized what she had just done…what she had just thought…

She smiled sweetly and said, "Nothing. It's just this whole situation, you know? It's really, really…getting to me. It's getting to us all, don't you think?"

Lindsey took a step back. Aw, crap; she had _that_ look in her eyes again, didn't she?

Miranda took a few deep breaths and said, in as calm of a voice she could muster, "Let's get back to work."


	14. The Nightmares

The night brought tremendous anticipation and anxiety for everyone. Though they all went to their separate beds and tried to rest, this was a feat proven impossible.

For the murderer, this was because they had to do some further inner reflection on their plan to make sure nothing would go wrong.

For the innocent, this was because they feared each, unsteady breath they took could be their very last.

* * *

It was a quiet, sunny day at the courtyard of the hospital. Today, all the patients were inside, leaving Lindsey to stand and walk around the pond in the center. She hummed a merry tune to herself, hoping she could get off work in a few hours so she could go shopping with Aimee; she heard that the mall was having a 2-for-1 special on—

Crying.

A soft, abrupt crying.

It was like a slow hiccup, like the cry of a ghostly being…

Lindsey held her breath and took a few steps forward. Little Erik was sitting at the edge of the pond, dipping his hand in the water as he always did whenever he came out here, and he was sobbing. Had he been here the entire time and she just missed him?

"Erik?" said Lindsey. She bent down next to the boy and said, "Erik, what's wrong? You can tell me."

The crying stopped.

Erik turned to Lindsey, his eyes sunken and hollow. "You killed me."

Without warning, a giant hand reached out and grabbed Lindsey by the wrist, tightening its grip. "I _said _I'll kill you before you go to anyone else," said the voice of Vincent.

Lindsey tried to call for help, but her voice box clouded over. She tried to reach out for Erik, but he kicked her down, and she fell deeper and deeper and deeper…

* * *

Lindsey's eyes shot open and she gasped. Her room was enveloped in darkness, but she was still here. She was still alive.

Her heart pounded furiously against her chest and she took a few, deep breaths. _If I lay perfectly still,_ she thought, _they can't get me…they can't get me…they can't get me…_

She turned on her side and reached across the bed. Aimee was not there. She had wanted her sister to stay close by, but it was Max who had insisted that Aimee's body be moved to Michael's room, reminding her that the body would eventually begin to rot and stink.

The body. Her sister's body. The body of the sister who would never wake up again.

Thunder clapped, and Lindsey curled her knees up to her chest. "They can't get me…they can't get me…they can't get me…they can't get me…they can't get me…"

* * *

The ocean's waves thundered and crashed above the shrill laughter of the two boys who ran across the rough, sandy shore. Abbott's feet clapped behind him as he raced to catch up with Caleb.

"No far! I want ice cream! Me!" Abbott protested.

"Hahaha, you should've said so in the first place, bro!" laughed Caleb. He licked his chocolate ice cream cone while Abbott pouted.

"Hey, to make it up to you, how about we go swimming?" suggested Caleb. "Just you and me."

Abbott grinned. "Loser pays for the other's ice cream."

The two boys ran into the water, shrieking with laughter and from the icy cold that gripped their ankles. Abbot ran further and further out until—

"I know what you did."

"Huh?" Abbott spun around. Caleb stood above him, his eyes hollow and dark. Suddenly, the ground gave way and Abbott sank slowly, slowly, slowly…..

"I know you betrayed me," said Caleb. "And I don't think you deserve to live for that, do you?"

Abbott tried to reply, but he could only push air out of his throat. He fell and a watery curtain closed over his head.

* * *

He was awake, Abbott knew that much. And yet, he couldn't open his eyes.

At last, he dared to open them by just an inch.

When he realized he was still in bed and not in danger of sinking and drowning, he opened them further. It was then he realized his sweaty pyjamas were sticking to his skin.

Abbott gulped and stepped out of bed, shivering as though it were winter and he was caught outside without a jacket. He _had_ locked the door, right? No harm in checking, right?

He cautiously walked over to the door. The lock was turned into position.

Nobody could get in through the bathroom, right?

Unless it was unlocked…

Abbott told himself he was being stupid, but he checked the bathroom door anyway. It, too, was locked.

"This damn weekend's really fucked me up," he sighed. He walked over to the chair by the window and sat down. Next to the chair was a small table with a book. Without reading the title, he picked it up and flipped through it, though he didn't pay attention to the words.

He continued to sit like this until he finally fell asleep, the moonlight shining upon his face.

* * *

Max walked down the hall. He wondered if this action made him very brave or very stupid or both. After all, there was still a killer on the loose, and there was a chance he could be next. Yet he couldn't sleep, so what else was there to do? He'd surely go mad if he just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.

Max wondered if anyone else was awake. Obviously, the events of today and yesterday would've put everyone on edge. Were they awake now, on their guard and prepared to strike at the slightest sign of an invasion? Or had they managed to somehow fall asleep and then _stay_ asleep?

_Creeeeaaak._


End file.
